Unconventional Alliance
by Sassiersphinx81
Summary: Connor finds himself in the presence of Altair, a master in his own time and now displaced through time and half way across the world. Now it is a race against everything to stop the remaining Templars from trying to grow their numbers back, and find a way to get Altair back to where he belongs.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my new story, Unconventional Alliance. I have been thinking about doing something like this since I started playing AC3. Now, in here, it starts off before he takes out his father, Haytham. Achilles has already passed on and has left everything to Conner. Now, onward!**

A breeze blew through the open window, airing the musty stench from the old manor house. Spring was well into setting in at the Homestead. The residents of the small community milled around, greeting everyone that they past. There were no strangers in the town. Everyone knew everyone, and that was the way it was. It was peaceful, but almost too peaceful for Conner, who sat at the table in the dining room at the manor house, head bent over his new task. Repairing the old hidden blade that once belonged to his old mentor, Achilles.

The blade had been broken in the last skirmish had been a part of. The English were still none too happy about what had transpired in their old colonies. Their retribution, they said, would be swift and just for the likes of the traitors that had taken from them. He had fought like a wild cat, until he heard the metallic sound of the blade's snap. Then it was as if the world slowed as he watched the two inch long piece fall to the earth at his feet.

He shook the memory from his head and the cramp from his digits. The repair was tedious, and the labor, time consuming. One must have the skilled hands of a blacksmith, but the delicate touch of a tailor, for the work that had to be done. Unfortunately, he possessed none of those skills.

His patience spent, he sighed at the lack of work he had done, and took himself from the table. It would have to wait until his nerves were not so frayed, and his mind clearer. Knowing if he stayed in the house, he would try again, and fail; he took his leave of the large, empty house, and decided a walk amongst the trees and wildlife would clear his troubled mind.

Out the front door, and down the stone steps, Conner stopped to breathe in the natural scent of well, nature. It brought a small lift to his lips as he started down the path towards his ship, the _Aquila_, but only making to the barn, he heard the shouting of a familiar voice.

"Conner! Conner!" Norris came running but behind him, out of breath and once he stopped, he bent over trying to get his lungs to work again.

"Norris, what seems to be the problem?" He turned to the other man.

"You…must…come…quickly." He panted, and looked up at the young assassin. "Myriam found someone while hunting. You must come."

That caught my attention. "Where is she?"

"Her cabin." He finally stood up, but his breathing was still not back to normal.

Conner laid a hand on Norris' shoulder. "I shall go to her. Go to the house and rest a moment, then rejoin us. You seem to need it."

All he could do was nod. He was completely fatigued from sprinting nearly all the way across the Homestead. Conner, on the other hand, was rested and ready. Taking off in a full out run, he took to the trees and rocks, cutting the running time in nearly half. He knew the woods and trees and every place in the Homestead.

Upon arriving, he dropped from the branches and looked around. "Myriam?" He called her name.

She emerged from the small shack. A smile crossed her delicate face. "Conner, Norris did find you. I'm glad you came." She waved him forward, and entered the shack. "I called for Doctor White as well. I shot him, but not bad. He came out of nowhere. Just appeared when I took aim at a rather large buck that was grazing nearby."

He followed her inside and to the side of the man that lay in the small cot. She had already field dressed the wound, but he could tell it was rather close to the heart. "Has he woken up at all?" He asked as he bent down next to the stranger.

"No, not once. I don't know if he was even awake when he appeared." She paced a bit. "Conner, it was as if he appeared out of thin air, like magic." She wrung her smaller hands. "I did not mean to shoot him, I swear to you."

He stood and turned to the woman. Laying a comforting hand on her shoulder, he gave her one of his small smiles. "I believe you. Now, we must get him to Doctor White if there is any chance of him surviving. How long have you had him here?"

She thought upon it for a minute. "Not long. I would say a half hour at most. Norris was with me when it happened. He brought him here after the incident and then I sent him to find you as I addressed the wound. Big Dave stopped in as I was doing that, to drop off my newly sharpened knife. I sent him to get the doctor."

"That was wise of you. Now, I will go see what is keeping…" But he did not get a chance to finish the sentence when the sound of a horse coming up the dirt part was heard.

Heading outside, he watched Doctor White dismounted his horse with bag in hand. "I was told there was an injured man here." He walked over to them and looked around.

Myriam nodded. "Inside Doc. I shot him and I feel just terrible about it."

Conner knew she was beating herself over the accident. Myriam could hold her own in a firefight, but she would not harm another unless it was to preserve her own life or the people who were dear to her. "Myriam, it was an accident. You did not see him until the last moment and then it was too late. He will be fine and he will see that you meant him no harm."

She looked up at Conner with doe eyes and nodded. "I know, but still. I feel just awful for it."

"I know you do, but the good doctor is here now and will see to the wound."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

And so everything was done there in the shack. The retrieval of the musket ball from the stranger's chest, and the stitches to close the wound. Doctor White did it in a timely fashion that made Conner marvel at the man again. He was good at what he did, as was all the people that called the Homestead their home.

Doctor White wiped off his hands with a wet cloth. "You should take him back to the manor. He needs to be looked after until the time he comes to." He turned his attention onto Myriam, who was sitting next to her husband. "He will recover, Myriam. There was not lasting damage, and it was a clean shot. You should be proud of that shot. If it was an animal, I would have no doubt that it would have not suffered."

Conner shook his hand. "Thank you again, Doctor. I am in your debt once again."

The older man laughed. "Don't be silly, my boy. You saved me, and got my name cleared from the men that tried to slander it. I believe I still own you." Pulling a few things from his bag, he handed them to the assassin. "I will come by to clean and inspect the wound in the morning. I will send Diana to see to his care following that. Can you keep an eye on him for the night? I have to now go take care of Ellen's daughter. She has slipped from a wall once more and cut her leg. I was on my way there when Dave found me. I thought this took precedence over a small cut."

He looked down at the gauze in his hand. "And what shall I do with this?"

"There will be some blood that is still going to come through the stitches. It will need to be changed in a few hours. Do you think you can take care of that for me? I would owe you again." The man smiled, and Conner nodded.

"It will be no bother." Slipping them into his pouch, he watched Doctor White mount his horse and begin his return trek to the small village. "Norris, do you think you can help me take him to the manor?"

The miner nodded and smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

His chest felt tight as he awoke from the strange dream. Eyes opened and scanned his surroundings. _Where am I?_ He asked himself as he struggled to sit upright. The room was strange, but sparsely decorated. A few things here and there, but nothing at that looked familiar to him.

His shirt and robes were missing, leaving him with only his pants. A white cloth was tied around his chest, and up over the shoulder. He must have been wounded when he arrived in this strange land, but he still did not know where it was compared to where he had come from.

"Ah, good mornin'."

He spun around to see a woman walk in carrying a tray laden with some food and bandages, hair covered in what he could only assume was a cap, with lace along the edges. "Where am I?" His English was a bit rusty from lack of use, but she understood.

"Oh, why you are in the manor house at the Homestead. You don't remember how you got here?" She clicked her tongue and sat the tray on the small table in the corner. He merely just shook his head no. "Well, first of all, I am Diana. I will be seeing to your care. You had us rightly scared for some time. Didn't think you would even wake up." She gave him a smile.

"How long was I asleep for, ma'am?" Walking over to where she was laying a few things out. His stomach rumbled when the smell of food hit his nose.

She must have heard it because she pointed to the chair. "A few days. Myriam will sleep better knowing that you are out of danger. She was the one that did that to you." Gesturing to the white bandage right below his collar bone. "The poor dear has been so distraught on what she did. She did not mean it, I assure you."

He looked down at the white bandage that went around his chest. "I would assume I have been seen by a healer?"

She nodded, the smile never leaving her face. "That would have been Doctor White. Fixed you up right he did." Diana sat the bowl in front of him. "Now, I will let you eat, and I will come check on you in a bit. Don't eat too fast now." She turned on her heals, but stopped short of the door. "How rude of me, I never even asked your name."

"Altair."

**Okay, I'm back! I know, it's not been that long, a few days at best. I know this chapter was not long, but I assure you that the next will be longer. Conner and Altair are my two favorite guys in Assassin's Creed. **

**I am going for another first for me, trying to write not in first person. It's a challenge, let me tell you! I have to keep going back, rereading everything that I type to make sure I have not done that. Well, I hope you like it so far. Thanks for reading!**

_*Sassiersphinx*_


	2. Chapter 2

**I thought I would start out that Altair is the age he was at the conclusion of AC. French, English, German, Latin, and Arabic were the primary languages in the Third Crusades. (I looked it up) Just like any other language, if not used regularly, you will forget things. I want to thank Nessie for pointing out my mistake on the spelling. (Face palm) I can't believe I did that. *sniffling* But onward to the story!**

Altair paced the room he was in. It was the only thing he could do at that time to stave off the boredom of just sitting. Diana had come back, changed his bandages and it was the first time he had seen his wound. Four stitches neatly closed the hole that was in his chest. He had asked how it had happened, but with his broken English, it was hard to communicate well. He understood her words, but his speech was hard for her to understand, being thick with his native Arabic accent. Even the words he spoke sounded harsh in his own ears.

A knock on the door brought him to a stop to see who have come to pay him a visit. He looked over at the open door to see a man probably no older than himself standing there. His clothing was odd, but probably his clothing to the other man would be strange as well.

"I am glad to see you are well enough to walk." The man walked into the room. Up close his skin was a bit darker than is own tanned skin, but not by much. His hair was as dark as ink, and his brown eyes had a hard edge to them.

He nodded. Thinking about the words before he said them, he answered. "It would seem that way, but I have suffered far worse than this minor wound. I am Altair. What is your name?"

"Ratonhnhak;ton." Altair tried in vain to say the name that was given, but it was too complex. The man sighed. "But others call me 'Connor'."

"Connor." He let the name roll off his lips, saying it several times to make sure it was right. With a nod of approval from his host, he felt satisfied that he had it right. "It is easier to say than your true name."

Connor's mouth curled at the edges, giving off a ghost of a smile. "That it is. Tell me Altair, where are you from? I have not heard an accent such as yours in my travels."

"Syria." His eyebrow rose. The man seemed confused. "You do not know where that is?"

"I am sorry to say not. If I was to show you a map, would you be able to point it out?" He asked, and Altair merely nodded in response. It was easier to do than try and speak. Connor must have picked up on his frustrations of trying to speak. "English is not your language, I take it?"

"No. Where I am from, we speak Arabic, the language of the Holy Land. I…" He tried to think of the proper wording, "speak enough to get by. I understand what you say, but do not speak well." It was the true, plain and simple. He could understand every word that anyone said, but to try and speak, that was harder than to just listen.

Connor motioned him to follow, and the Syrian assassin followed the other man. He followed behind him through the house, looking at everything that they past. A few things he did not understand, but did not want to stop and ask what they were. _Best save that for another time_, he thought to himself. They already thought him strange, but to show he had no knowledge of some things may not sit well.

Walking down the stairs and into the front room, Altair felt the breeze from the open windows, but something caught his eye before they crossed the threshold of the room. He turned his head just slightly and spied the blade on the table. "That is an assassin blade. Is it yours?" Altair asked bypassing the room the Connor wanted him to walk into, to get a closer look at the blade.

Connor followed behind him in a turn of events. "Yes, but sadly it broke, and I do not have the skill to repair it. I must swallow my pride and take it to the town blacksmith, Dave. He might know how to reforge the steel."

Altair stopped at the edge of the table, and looked down at the blade. A two inch section had snapped off the end, leaving a jagged edge on both sides. He had seen it happen before. It had happened to him not long after he had become a master. The metal fatigues and becomes brittle, prone to the break he saw before him. "The metal has fatigued. It does happen in it ages." Studying it closer, it was very similar to the one that the Apple had showed him when he started to gaze into the golden orb for guidance and wisdom. "I may be able to fix this for you, as repayment for helping me."

Silence greeted him, and so he turned to look at Connor, who had a look of absolute shock on his tan face. "You know how to repair that?"

Rolling his eyes, he nodded. "Indeed. I would not have offered if I did not know."

"If you can, then I would be in your debt. Achilles did not teach me how to repair it before he passed." Picking up the other section, the Syrian heard the soft sigh escape his lips. "He would have rapped me over the head with his cane if he could see the condition it is in now. Some assassin I am. I cannot even repair my blades."

"Repairing a blade is not something most assassins know how to do. I know because…" He let the words fall off. He did not know how much he could tell this man. Thinking quickly, he looked at Connor. "I was by myself much. I had to know." That would work. It was close enough to the truth, but he could repair his in the field. This design was far different than the one he carried, but enough that he could repair it. It was from his vision, but how did they have this here when he just saw it a few short weeks ago? He made it his mission to investigate this mystery.

Setting the piece down, Connor nodded to the other room. "I believe you were going to show me where you are from?"

"Indeed." Altair accompanied his host into the other room, but once he saw the map, he reeled back, more in shock than anything. "The date. Is that correct?"

Connor, obviously confused at the other man's reaction. "No, the year is 1780. That is a replica of a map from 1746. I need to buy a new one the next time I am in Boston or New York."

Backing away, he was in complete shock. _The Apple has sent me into the future? But how? And why?_ He asked himself, but nothing came to mind. What was he thinking about before he woke up in this place? He could not recall. The only thing he could think about was when the elders told him he was to be the next Grand Master.

_Sitting behind a table, ordering people was not what he wanted to do the rest of his life. He was not even in his prime as of that moment in time. The Order looked to him for guidance and he had no answers. The moment that they told him he was the new Grand Master, the new Mentor, he ran like a scared child. He would not have the fate of the Order rest on his shoulders. He was not a man to lead any longer. _

_Malik had caught him atop a derelict home in the small town that rested in the afternoon shadow of the fortress. "What troubles you, Altair? You ran. The mighty Altair never runs from a challenge. At least not the one I have known most of my life."_

_He sighed and looked out at the people milling around in the dusty streets. "Malik, I do not crave power the way I once did. What if I was to take up the mantle that Al Mualim left behind and destroy the Order for good? I am an assassin. I am not a leader."_

_The one-armed man merely shook his head, and let out a chuckle. "You are sounding like a woman, my friend. You are not the same man that was with me in Solomon's Temple. I know that man is dead, but you are the one that they want. You have it in you to become more than Al Mualim."_

_His head turned swiftly, a dark look was set in place, but not at his friend. It was for himself. "And I could fail. I have much failure in my life. I do not want more to rest on my shoulders."_

"_Then don't fail. Simple as that." Malik stood up and dusted off his black robe. "You are your own worst enemy, Altair. You will see to it that you do not fail, and if I see you are slipping, I will begin to call you 'novice' once more. That will put you in your place."_

_Altair could not help but to find that humorous. "I will think upon your words, Malik. Thank you."_

_His friend nodded and walked away, leaving him there with his thoughts. _

The Apple. Had it come here with him? Or would he need to seek its location to return home? Turning to the only one that may have some answers, his honey colored eyes settled onto the dark brown set that was watching him now. "What did I come here with? Was a golden orb on my person?" Panic crept into his voice and from his rapid breathing, the stitches pulled at the wound, threatening to open if he did not calm down.

"No." Connor walked to a small chest in the corner of the room and opened it. Taking a satchel out, he came back over, holding it out to the Syrian. "That was all that you possessed. Your robes were beyond saving. For that I am sorry."

Snatching the satchel, he saw it was all there. His short sword, bracers, throwing knives, and hidden blade, but no orb. A stream of curse words left his mouth. Conner lifted a brow and waited until the rant was over. "I am sorry." Altair looked down at the ground.

"What has you troubled?" Leaning against the desk, Connor crossed his arms over his chest. Something was not right.

Altair sighed. "I do not know where to begin without sounding daft."

"Try from the beginning. You know something that I do not." His host gave him a flat look, but there was much suspicion in his eyes.

_I know many things, but what to reveal?_ He asked himself while looking over at the map once more. The date is what spooked him, but what the map showed him was beginning to set in. The world was not how he knew it. It was larger than he remembered from his studies. _So what it showed me was true_, recalling the map he saw once before after the death Al Mualim. It was not, as some may have thought, flat. It was a sphere.

"I am from Syria, but not when you think I am from…" And he told what he knew up until he awoke.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

After the story was complete, there was only one thing that was running through the Mohawk's mind and that was he was confused to no end. Here in front of him stood Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, Grand Master of the Syrian Assassins. From what he could remember from his history lessons from Achilles, Altair died in 1258 underneath Masyaf. His body was found by Ezio later in life. So, if that is true, then how is this man, dead for over five hundred years, standing here and speaking to him?

He claimed it was the Apple of Eden, created by the spirits that guided his people. Where the Apple was he had not a clue.

Altair looked at him after the conclusion of the long and complex story. "You do not believe?" His heavily accented voice cut the silence as Connor sat and pondered what he had just heard.

Looking at this man, this assassin of old, he could not help but believe. "I am still trying to understand." Standing, he walked to the window and looked out at the greenery. How he wished to be among the calmness that lay outside of the window and not stand there, thinking more than he had in quite some time.

"I am as well. I should not be here, but yet I am." Altair did not move from his spot against the wall.

Silence, once again, settled in the small room. He could feel the man's gaze on his back as he looked on. "I must talk to someone about this. She is the wisest person that I know. She would understand the spirits' wishes better than myself." His Clan Mother would understand and offer guidance to what he should do.

"Then I will accompany you. I wish to understand as well." He left his place on the wall to stand near him. "Where is your Clan Mother?" He formed it as a question, not understanding the meaning. Connor could tell that the Syrian, at times, had a hard time with some English words.

Turning, he looked at Altair. "Unless the Doctor says you are fit to travel, you will not leave here." He was also afraid that if something was to befall the man, it would damage everything they knew to be true.

That earned him a glare from the golden-eyed man in front of him. "I am not a child. I have sustained worse injuries and still continued on."

Had he always been this stubborn? That was something the old stories did not tell. "I do not think of you as a child. You were shot in the chest. That is not something one would brush off. You could have died from that wound had the doctor not gotten to you in time."

"But I did not. Now, I will accompany you. Either with your knowledge or without."

Connor knew he was serious. "Fine, but we must get you some clothes. You cannot run around like you are now." A sigh escaped him, and knew this was going to be a problematic day. "I will go see Ellen about commissioning you a new set of robes, if that is what you desire. Until they have been completed, I believe I have a jacket and shirt that will fit you."

Altair merely nodded and backed away, giving the Mohawk breathing room once more. It was not just his nerves that were frayed, it was he felt drained. First the blade, then this. Were the spirits testing his resolve? Seeing what could be done to him before he loses what little sanity he felt he possessed? He had not a clue, but he knew this was not over.

He watched Altair move to the other room, then came back with the blade. "You mentioned you had a blacksmith here?" Connor nodded. "I wish to speak with him. I will need his forge to remake this."

Massaging his temple, he now understood why Achilles had done it much around him. It was to stave off the growing pain behind his eyes. "Very well. We will go see Dave, and then I will have a talk with Ellen. They live next to each other."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

Walking down the small lane that led into the village, Connor watched Altair look up at the trees. "Have you not seen trees before?" A smirk formed on his lips.

Altair countered with a dark glare. "I have, whelp. Just not in such abundance." His eyes went back to looking at the foliage above and around them. "I am from a dry place. Not many trees there and not so wet."

"You have not traveled much, I take it?" He wanted to know more about this man. Achilles had taught him much about the way of the Order, but this man was born into it. Lived it his whole life.

"I have, but not as much as I have liked. It…it is complicated." The older man looked straight ahead. "About you, Connor. Have you traveled much? You are educated."

A small chuckle escaped him. "I am and I have. Since coming here, for right now it seems like ages ago, I have seen more than I thought possible. I have been to cities with buildings taller than trees, and have seen land far from here that you can only access by ship." How he would love to be on the _Aquila_ at that moment. The feel of the sea spray in his face. The sound of the sea as the bow of the small ship cut through her. "I will have to show you the _Aquila_. The fastest ship on the seas."

"You seem proud of your vessel, but I prefer land." The last part came out rougher than normal.

Looking at Altair, he enquired. "Do not like ships, Altair?"

The response was flat, emotionless. "Not ships, water. I am not overly fond of large bodies of water." Altair quickened his pace, and Connor deemed that the topic was closed.

So they walked silently together until they came to where Big Dave ran his forge. The larger man looked up from his work, a grin plastered on his soot-covered face. "Connor! Good to see you. What brings you to my forge?"

"My new houseguest wishes to ask you a question." Connor turned to Altair. "Altair, this is Dave, our resident blacksmith. Dave, this is Altair."

Dave sat his hammer down and walked over to them. "Nice to meet you, Altair." He held out his hand, and the assassin shook it, but Connor saw the wince in Altair's face from the firm handshake. Dave did not know his own strength sometimes. "So, what was your question?"

"I would like to borrow your forge for a time. Connor has damaged his blade, and as payment for helping me, I will fix it for him." The Syrian stood straight and tall, but he was still not as tall as either of the other two men. He was shorter than Connor himself by two inches at best, but Dave was taller than both.

Dave scratched his head. "Well I don't see why not. Come on in!" The grin was back and he clasped Altair on the shoulder, leading him into the work area.

"I will leave you to your work. I need to speak with Ellen." I inclined my head and turned in the direction of Ellen's home and workshop, just up the rise a bit.

Exhaling when he was away from the two men, he shook his head. It had been a long day, and it seemed it was never to end. The sun sat just past high noon, but the temperature was pleasant for a change. At least he was outside, and that was something he would not complain about.

Ellen's home came into view and she greeted him as he walked up. "Ah Conner, how is everything?" She gave a pleasant smile, as she placed the final stitch in the garment she was creating. "I heard you have a new person staying in the manor with you."

It was a small community. Everyone knew much of everything, but he would trade none of it. "You have heard right. He is in need of some new clothing. Since you are the best, I come to you." I gave her my best smile.

Color flooded her pale cheeks. "Flatterer." After composing herself, she smoothed the wrinkles from the dress in front of her. "What does he need?"

I pulled the blood stained and torn robes from my bag and handed them to her. She unfolded them, and shook her head. "Can you create something similar to them?"

"I can, but I have never come across fabric such as this. It is handmade, but as I said, I have never come across it before. Are you going to Boston any time soon? I will need a few things from one of the shops there. Then I can create these." She held the garments out in front of her. "But, they will stand out if I make them as they are now."

He had a feeling she would say something like that. "Then create them so he will blend in. I cannot have him standing out in a crowd."

Ellen chuckled and laid the robes over her arm. "Something like yours, I would think would work well." Tapping her finger against her chin, she smiled. "I know what I will do." Then, to his surprise, she began to circle him. "Oh yes, I know exactly what I am going to do."

He watched her, arching a brow. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ideas." She stopped. "Now, if I make you a list, do you think you can pick up the items?"

"Of course." He was always willing to help those around here. "I will leave first thing in the morning. If you need him for measurements, he is with Dave right now."

"That would be most helpful. Thank you Connor and I will have Maria bring you the list once I am done." Ellen looked down at the garments over her arm. "They are something though." A thoughtful smile crossed her red lips. She snapped out of her thoughts. "Well, best be off with you. I cannot do my job if I am talking to you all day."

Smiling, I bowed. "I thank you again, Ellen." And took my leave.

**In the next chapter will be Altair's first trip to the city, and a visit to Connor's village to meet the Clan Mother. Some harmless flirting between Connor and Ellen, plus Altair's aversion to water. The speech is a pain in the backside, but I am trying. Please let me know if there is anything messed up of afoul that you find. Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Forgive me, but I had to go change a few dates in the last chapter. I have Achilles has passed already, but in game he does not die until the following year. The last two left alive is Haytham and Lee. Hopefully now that I shave gone back, got names and have the correct spelling, I can get this show on the road. F.Y.I. – I have been having problems with my internet connection, and I am waiting for a new router. Please forgive me if I don't get these chapters up in a timely fashion. Also I want to thank Salanaland (hopefully I spelled that right) for the lesson in English. I will keep that in mind, and to everyone, I like being critiqued. It helps me to correct things I have missed or things I overlook. **

Altair sat tall in the saddle of the mare he rode. She was a gentle bay with a deep chest made for running. He had taken an instant liking to the horse when he saw her in the stables. Connor had told him her name was Swift, and he could believe that.

Readjusting the strange hat he wore to keep the sun from his eyes, he looked at the city that lay before him. What he would not tell Connor was he had seen, and been to bigger. The buildings were nice, and functional, but lacked the elegance from the buildings that had been constructed around Jerusalem or even to an extent, Damascus. People milled about in the streets, moving out of their intended path for them to pass. Guards in red and white coats watched them with a wary eye as they dismounted outside the local tavern.

"I must speak to one of my contacts here, and then we will collect Ellen's items." Connor tied his brown speckled horse to the post.

Merely nodding, he did the same to Swift and followed behind the other assassin. The tavern was loud and drunken men took up every wooden table that occupied the place. He could smell the stale booze and sweat in the room. His nose crinkled a bit at the putrid smell. _Could they not light a few incense, or open a window or two?_ He thought to himself as he accompanied Connor to one of the back tables.

"If it isn't my favorite person!" The man stood and from his accent, Altair could tell he was a Frenchman. "What brings you to Boston today?"

"Stephane, have you any word on the whereabouts of Charles Lee?" Connor asked as they sat down.

The Frenchman shook his head. "I am sorry, no. He has gone underground since you took out Church and had him shamed." Then he turned and looked at Altair. "And who is your friend today? Another brother?"

His French was leaps and bounds better than his English, so he spoke for himself. "My name is Altair, and I assume you are a Brother as well?" Connor and Stephane looked at him like he had gone mad. Sighing, he met each man's eyes. In English he spoke. "I am better at French than English."

Stephane's face lit up like a child with a new toy. "I understand that, my friend. I thought I would lose my mind learning it. So, what part of the world do you hail from?"

"Syria." He replied. "Who is Charles Lee?"

Taking a long drink from his tankard, Stephane wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Connor's pa's right hand man and the next in line to become the Grandmaster of the Templar order."

"Are you implying…" He turned his wide-eyed gaze onto the Mohawk. "You should have told me something like that."

Connor's eyes narrowed until all you could see were slits. "That is not something I share with all, but to answer your question, yes. Haytham Kenway, my father, is the leader of the Templars."

He thought about that, and for some reason, he began to chuckle. "I guess we are more alike than I previously thought."

"How so?" That must have caught his attention.

Altair shook his head. "That is a tale for another time, my friend, but I believe we have company."

He had heard the heavy footfall of the soldiers before they had. Connor saw them when he turned in his chair, and watched them as they approached. Altair knew this was going to lead into trouble. "Hey, two you louts in the corner. You look awfully familiar."

They came closer to the table and into strike range. Flexing his fingers, he knew that the blade he had was as sharp as the day it was given to him. One flick of his wrist and it would be buried into the flesh of the closest man. He was itching for a good fight, for he had not been in one in a long time.

"Gentlemen, why don't you have a pint? We are all friends here." Stephane stood and smiled at the men, and trying not to kill the men that had just walked in.

The soldiers ignored the Frenchman, and continued to come closer. "I am talking to you, savage."

Altair watched Connor tense at the name that he had just been called. "I am no savage." He growled, and looked up at the men from under the cowl. "I would suggest you leave us alone."

The soldiers' leader, a scruffy man with a horrid smell, laughed at him. "I don't think I will listen to your suggestion."

Personally, if he was thinking the way he normally did, he would not have done the thing that he did next, but the one thing that made Altair's blood boil was a man who thought they were above another human being. "Here," He stood up slowly and grabbed the bottle on the table, "have a drink!" And slammed the bottle into the side of the man's face.

The bottle broke upon impact, sending pieces of colored glass and booze towards his compatriots. Ducking to avoid the spray, they missed seeing Connor come out of his chair; fists balled up and hit the man closet to him. Stephane came up over the table, tackling one man to the ground, while Altair rammed his forehead into leader's nose.

The cheers came from every area of the room. The sound was loud, but it caused the Syrian's blood to flow like only a good fight could. It fueled him to flip the soldier over his shoulder and through the table, while he saw Connor kick another in the chest, sending him reeling into a support beam for the second floor.

But his luck would not hold out for long. One lucky shot sent him to the floor, hand clutching the wound that was there. The pain was enough to take his vision momentarily as he fell to his knee. Warm blood began to leak from the freshly open wound, and seeped through his shirt.

"We need to get out of this before more show up." Connor knelt beside him once the last man was down. When Altair did not move, Connor grabbed his hand and saw the blood. "Your wound has reopened."

Pushing him away, the assassin struggled to his feet. "I will be fine. Let us leave." Growling through the pain, he tried to clear his head.

Stephane wiped the blood from his nose. "You boys might want to leave the back way. I will have someone bring your horses to the outskirts in a bit. You know where to find them at, don't you, Connor?"

The Native nodded, and Altair followed him out through the back door.

Once back into the sunlight, he opened his shirt to indeed see that he had pulled a stitch out. "Damn."

There was a chuckle from the younger man, who was leaning against a tree. "You do not speak English well, but you know how to curse."

That brought a smile to his lips. "I have always learned the worse words first, it would seem." Rebuttoning the shirt, he stood up straight. "I believe that we have had our excitement for the day, yes?" The wound felt like someone had hit him with a branding iron. The white hot burn slowed his movements, but he would not let Connor know that. It was something at that he would have to push through.

Connor, sensing something was wrong with his new partner, looked over at him as they walked through the streets to the shop Ellen had pointed him to. "You should have that looked at once more. I know of a man here in town that will."

Altair waved him off once more. "I will be fine with a bit of rest. It was only one stitch." But the pain was not receding like he once hoped. If it got worse before they made it back, he would have Doctor White look at it upon their return.

The assassin shrugged and shook his head. "You are quite stubborn."

Laughing at that, he placed his hand over the wound, feeling the remaining sutures pull. "So I have been told, and yet, I do not listen."

They lapsed into silence as they made their way on foot to the shop. It was not far from the tavern, and they also did not have their horses. Altair watched people walk to and fro. He also took in the smells of fresh goods and the sea not far away. All in all it had not been a bad day, even with the fight. But his thoughts drifted of home. Of the people he had left behind, the things that needed to be done, and of Maria. Even though to him it had only been a few days, in the here and now, it had been over five hundred years. He had done the calculations and knew how long it had been.

Out loud he would never admit that he was homesick. To him it seemed weak, but there was nothing wrong about missing your family. Missing your home. He let the sigh escape and kept his pace with Connor, who looked at him sideways.

"Something troubling you?" He asked as they rounded a corner onto the main street.

Altair shook his head, and gave him a smirk. "Not in the least. Wishing that there had been more of those men to beat."

"You will have your chance, Altair. There are always men like that. The ones that believe that since they wear the seal of the crown that they are higher than the average man. To me, they are below. The oppressors, the slavers, the murderers. They are all below the common man." Connor's voice took a hard edge.

"But in all rights, Connor, we are murderers. In one form or another. We take human life, even though it is to stop the corrupt. That is a definition of murder. The kill may be justified, but it is still taking life." Altair did not know anything of Connor's past because he would not talk about it. He had tried to get information out of him on the trip here, but the man was as silent as the tomb.

Stopping short, he spun around and looked at Altair. "But we must to insure the freedom of all."

Altair nodded. "This is also true. I must ask, why did you take up the blade? I know you were not born into this life as I was. What was your pain?" To better understand your comrades is to better understand their past pains. He had to know why he chose this life. The life of an assassin was never an easy one.

He looked deep in thought. "It is a long story. I will tell you on the way to my village."

"I understand. I will wait until then." He began to walk again, leaving Connor standing there. Looking over his shoulder, he called. "Are you coming?"

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

They gathered what was needed quickly. The shopkeeper had everything that was on the list, so there was no need to go anywhere else. The horses were where Stephane said they would be and they mounted.

Connor let his horse walk at its own pace. He was in no hurry to actually get to his village. Since the death of his friend, Kanen'to:kon by his own hands, he did not return as often as he should have. The death had taken its toll on him and strengthen his resolve to kill Lee before the Templar could hurt another.

Altair cleared his throat. "You were going to tell me something when we were in the road I believe."

_The man was persistent_; Connor mused, _and did not forget a thing_. "Why must you know?"

"Pain is something that motivates all, but it can also make us reckless and foolish. If you fight these men out of pain, you are going to make mistakes." He looked at him with an emotionless face. "I know. I have been down that road."

Knowing he would have to tell Altair at some time, he shook his head, and laid the hood down. "I was but a boy when Lee came to my village first. They were looking for something. While I was out playing hide and seek with the other children, he found me, tried to get to tell him where the village was. I refused. I was knocked out, and when I came to, the village burned." He squeezed his eyes shut and he could hear his mother's voice in his head, and his screams to help free her from the rubble.

"My mother died in that attack. Burned to death. I swore that I would find Lee and make him pay, but I did not go to Achilles then. It was not until nine years later that I was to find him and begin my training. The spirits guided me to find a symbol, that I would later find out was the symbol of the assassins. That was how I found Achilles and got him to train me."

Altair listened to the rest as he was told about the assassinations of the men that were with Lee that day. How there was only two men left and that was Lee and his father, Haytham. "Lee is my target. I will kill my father if he does get in my way, but I would not wish to."

"So pain was your reason to join. Just as I thought. Yet you continue on with your cause. That in itself is noble, but what will you do when it is over and the man lay dead at your feet? Will you find another cause, or will you walk away? That is what you must think about next." Altair clicked his tongue, sending his horse into a trot.

Grinding his teeth, Connor caught up with him. "You sound like Achilles."

"Then he must have been a wise man. If two men ask you the same thing and they have never met, do you brush it off, or do you listen to their words?" He smirked. "I have been down the path that has been laid before you, Connor. I know what lay at the end. You must decide where you will go after the final fight."

Mumbling something under his breath about mentors and their cryptic words, he turned his horse down the path to the valley his people called home. The remaining ride was done in silence as they dismounted and entered the village. People turned and watched them walk towards where the Clan Mother always was.

He saw her as they walked in. Oia;ner smiled when she saw him. She addressed him as he came closer. "Ratonhnhake:ton, this is unexpected, but please sit and tell me your travels."

How he had missed conversing in the tongue of his people. "Clan Mother, I have much to ask of you." Taking a seat in front of the fire, he watched her through the flames.

She smiled gently. "I can tell from the way you walk than you carry much on your shoulders. What has you troubled?"

He looked over at Altair, who was sitting away from them, but watching intently. "My companion, Altair, was brought here by the spirits, but we do not know why."

"The spirits work in ways we do not understand, my boy. You of all should know that." Turning her eyes to the Syrian. In English, she addressed him. "Come here, boy." The assassin's eyes narrowed, but did as he was asked. She looked him over. "You have old eyes. Eyes that have seen much. The spirits have brought you to Ratonhnhake:ton for a reason."

"But why? Why have they pulled me from my home to come here?" He wanted to know. "I should not be here."

She nodded. "No you should not, and I can see that, but you are here none the less. Maybe you can ask them yourself." Standing, she smoothed down her leathers, walked to the shelf, and took out the wooden box. Once she had it in her hands, she held it out to Altair. "This may give you the answers you seek, but they do not always answer."

Connor watched as Altair opened the lid, as his eyes widened on the clear orb inside. "This looks like the Apple, but not." Reaching into the chest, his hand grazed the artifact that Connor himself had held years ago that sent him down this road.

Altair, on the other hand, did not like the feel of this Piece of Eden. It was not like the Apple at all. The look was the same except for the golden skin, this one was clear. Lightly brushing the outside of orb, its light was nearly blinding.

**I have chosen well.** He heard the voice through the mist.

"What do you want with me?!" Altair yelled into the darkness that surrounded him. His fists clinched and he spun around. Nothing was there. "Show yourself!"

A woman appeared before him. Midnight black hair flowed down her shoulders, pale skin, and a pristine white dress. "I have chosen well. You will help him."

Grinding his teeth, he tried to get his anger under control. "I should not be here. I should not be helping anyone! I should be dead in this time, yet I stand before you, alive, breathing. Why have you brought me here to help Connor?"

She smiled, but it had an edge to it that he had seen before. He did not like it. "That is for you to find out. I shall not give you all of the answers, Altair. You will have to find that out on your own. A word of caution before you depart. You must complete your task in three year time. If you have not done so, the past you know and what everyone knows will be changed forever."

"And how am I to help him when I do not even know what it is you want of me?" He never took his eyes from her, nor she him.

"Dark times are coming. For you and for him. He must fulfill his destiny, and you must help him." She spoke once more, and with that, turned her back to him. "Heed my words, Altair." And with that, she was gone, and he sat on the dirt ground.

**I know, I know it is an abrupt ending, but it was a good place to leave off. Juno at her finest. Hope you liked it. Like I said before, I enjoy the review and critiques. Keeps me trying harder to keep you entertained. Thank you again.**


	4. Chapter 4

Winter began to set into the New England states. Altair pulled the collar up higher on his robes and flexed his fingers, trying to chase the chill from his body. Watching from his perch on top of a burnt out building, he kept his eyes open for Haytham Kenway. No word had been heard of Lee, but Connor was sure that his father would know where he was. The problem was Haytham knew what Connor looked like, along with all of his other assassins, so it fell onto his shoulders to watch the Grandmaster of the Templars.

He did not know how long he knelt there, watching and waiting until he saw him leave the safety of Fort George. Snow began to lightly fall as Haytham headed towards the docks, six soldiers following in his shadow. Jumping from his perch, he grabbed the branch like Connor had showed him, and hit the ground in a roll. Coming to his feet, he took off up a wall, finding handholds on the charred brick, and pulled himself onto the roof. He was glad he had taken the black robes that Ellen had made as well. Climbing through the maze of burned buildings would have ruined the white he preferred.

Taking notice of the guards on the roof, he moved swiftly along the back side of the building's roof to avoid them, and then took a leap into a hay cart. Once he was back on the ground, he followed at a distance, trying to keep him in sight, but it was proving most difficult on the busy streets.

Growling in frustration, Altair pulled his hood down more over his eyes. The snow was beginning to stick to his clothing and the ground around him. He shivered involuntarily from the icy wind that came from the harbor. The robes were thick, and kept him relatively warm, but his face and hands took the brunt of the chill.

His target moved towards the docks and he followed, blending into the crowds and behind crates. Haytham stopped just shy of a large vessel at the harbor, and another man walked over to greet him. Stepping in closer, he listened into their conversation.

"Have you secured safe passage to England yet, sir?" The younger man asked as he looked around nervously.

Haytham shook his head. "With the blasted winter setting in early, it's too dangerous to cross the open seas right now. I must wait until spring." Then he smiled. "That will give me more time to find my son. Convince him the error of his ways."

The man snorted. "You ain't getting through to that savage, sir. You know how those assassins are."

"I know." Rubbing his temple, Altair heard him exhale. "If you hear anything more about what they are planning, inform me at once. I cannot have Connor ruining everything now."

_What was he planning?_ The Syrian wondered as he looked on. He knew he could not get any closer less he wanted to be caught, and for whom he was, that would be bad. So he hid behind the crates, watching and waiting.

As the two men were talking, a young soldier walked over to Haytham and whispered something in his ear. The Templar's head shot up, and a smile crossed his lips. "Really? Here? Oh that is rich." And before Altair could move, a dagger lodged itself into the wooden crate to his left. "Come out assassin! I know you're there."

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of his hiding place. "Haytham."

"Do I know you? You seem to know me." Haytham walked over and stopped a few feet from him. "Of course, my son must have told you horrid things about me."

Altair smirked. "I know what I have seen and heard, and what he has told me."

Haytham pushed his cape to the side, exposing his sword and pistol. "You must be the one assassin my men have no information on. The one that stays out of the cities. Oh I have heard about you, yet I do not know your name."

"Names mean nothing. They are just labels. Actions are what tell you about a person." He crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at the older man.

That got a laugh form Haytham. "Oh I like you. You have fight. Too bad I will have to kill you to make an example for my son that if he wants me, he has to come himself." Pulling his sword, he held it in a fighting stance. "Let's do this as gentlemen."

"I know you will not do this fair." His arms dropped and in one fluid motion, he pulled out the short sword he favored over everything.

Haytham made the first move. Thrusting forward with the saber, Altair parried with his own blade, and moved to the side. The Templar slashed to the side, and narrowly missed the Syrian. "You have great speed. You were not trained by Connor, nor that fool Achilles. You were trained by a real master." He struck again, but was blocked once more by Altair's blade.

Sparks flew as steel clashed with steel. "I was, and I can see you were as well." They were face to face when Haytham tried for his side with a hidden blade, but Altair moved quickly and was out of strike range. "You are well versed in the ways of the assassins. It is a pity you chose the wrong side in this war." He would not kill Haytham here. He had made a promise to Connor that he would not kill him if it came down to it.

"I think you picked the wrong side, Assassin." And he pulled his pistol. "Let us see if you can escape a bullet."

That was the one thing he could not outrun, nor could he live through one at point blank range. Pulling a smoke bomb from his pouch, he threw it to the ground, covering the area in a thick blackish cloud. He would have to thank Connor for showing him those. He heard Haytham cough and gag from the smoke and took the time to get behind the man. With stealth only a master had, he had his hidden blade to the other man's throat.

"I should rid the world of you right here and now, but I was asked by your son to not end your life. That is the reason you take breaths." He growled, pushing the blade into the tender flesh of the man's neck. Far enough to draw a bit of blood, but not enough to kill. "Do not follow me, nor hunt me. If you do, I will not hesitate next time to spill your blood." And before the smoke could clear, he was gone.

Crouched atop a mast, he could hear Haytham yelling at his men to find him. They never would. Looking into the harbor, he saw the _Aquila_ in the distance. Knowing only one way to get there, he did a leap and landed with grace into the water.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor watched Altair climb aboard the _Aquila_. One of the men gave him a blanket to wrap himself in. "They mean to flee the colonies." He shivered under the blanket. "But because winter has begun early, they cannot."

"Is that all you could find out?" Connor joined him on the lower deck.

The amber eyed man nodded. "That and if your father is cornered, he favors a gun."

His eyes widened. "You fought him? You did not kill him, did you?" He did not want his father dead, but if it was necessary, he would do it himself.

"No, he still breathes. He may have a small cut on his neck from my threat." That brought a ghost of a smile to his scarred lips. "He will retreat to Fort George to wait out the winter. I do not believe he will come out again."

"Is Lee there with him?" That was the one man he wanted more than anything in the world.

"I do not know. I would say yes, but I could be lying. I will go back with you to the homestead and wait a few days. Once it calms down in the city, I shall return to see what I can find out again." Altair pushed the wet hood off his head and shivered again.

Connor shook his head. "That would not be wise. He now knows who you are and you have a target the same as us. I will figure something out." He was hoping that would not happen. Altair had been his hidden card and now that had been played. "You have extra clothes in the cabin. Go change before you catch your death."

"I should be dead already." He mumbled, but walked away.

Sighing, he walked back up to the bridge and relieved Faulkner of the helm. "Let us set a course for home. I have much to do."

*/*/*/*/*/*

Altair had been true to his word because a few days following their return, he was gone again. Back to New York to gather more information. He must have slipped out in the middle of the night because he was gone before Connor rose with the sun.

Debating on following him, he decided to go check on his people in Boston. There had to be information on Lee somewhere. Grabbing what he would need for the travel, he went to leave when it opened. Altair walked in with Dobby at his heels.

"I found her on the road." He spoke, shaking the snow from his cloak.

Turning his eyes on onto the petite woman." Dobby, what are you doing here?"

She took off her cloak, which Connor took and hung up. "You told us to inform you when Lee was spotted. He came into town three nights ago. There was no time to get word to you, so I took a horse and rose as fast as I could." She smiled at him. "We all know what it means to find him."

She was right. It meant everything. "Thank you. If you would like, there is a guest room upstairs you can rest in. After you have awakened, we can begin planning."

Nodding, he could see the weariness in her face. "Maybe a small nap. It's been a while since I have ridden a horse that far."

Connor told her which room and the two men watched her walk up the stairs. Once she was upstairs, Connor led the way down to the basement. "I have a way into the Fort."

Altair cocked a brow. "Explain, because I have seen that fort. The walls are high and the guards are well armed. There is no storming it."

Shaking his head, he pointed to a model of Fort George. "I know of a way into there without detection." He rotated the model. "There are tunnels running below the fort. If we can access them, I can slip in unnoticed and light a signal to have the fort bombarded from the harbor."

Looking down at the model, he could see the ancient assassin was deep in thought. Finally after a few minutes, he moved his eye back to Connor. "How are you to bombard it? You have but one small ship."

Smiling, he flipped the model over on the rotating table. "There are tunnels underneath the fort. If we can get them cleared out, that is how I am to get in."

"A bold move. Slip in under their noses." He nodded. "Who is to bombard the fort? The _Aquila_ does not have the firepower for something of that size."

"No she does not. That is why I have someone else in mind." The gears in his head were running and the plan was coming together. Now all he had to do was get Lafayette to join with him.

Altair merely nodded once more. "If you have it planned out, then I shall help however you need me."

Connor looked over at him. "I was hoping you would go with me into the fort. That way if something was to go wrong, I will have help."

"It takes courage to ask for help when one is not accustomed to it. I would be honored to accompany you." He bowed his head, turned on his heels and headed up the stairs.

Calling out to him, the older assassin stopped. "Altair, thank you."

"You are welcome." And he left, leaving Connor standing there, looking down at the model and hoping he could get the last piece to fall into place.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Altair sat on the bluffs overlooking the _Aquila_. A blank piece of parchment sat on his lap, along with a stick of charcoal. He did not know why, but he felt to need to sketch things in this new world. Something that he could take back with him. To remind him this was no dream.

The charcoal glided across the paper easily. It was not something he had worked with before, but Ellen had told him that it worked well for drawing. No one knew he could draw. It was not something widely known. Mostly he did it to stave of boredom or a time killer between missions.

Looking out across the inlet, he drew the lines of the vessel that lay before him. He had never drawn a ship before, but it was no more difficult than a building. He would look up at the _Aquila_, and then back down at his paper. The sky was just falling into darkness when he put the final touches onto the paper. Looking at it with a critical eye, he was about to crumple it up and throw it into the water when someone walked up behind him.

"That is beautiful, Altair."

He turned his head, and looked at Myriam, who was only a foot from him. He must have been deep into the sketch for her to get so close. "If you say so." He looked back down at the charcoal drawing of the ship. "I have never worked with charcoal before."

She gave him a smile and sat down. "I think it looks great."

Looking down at the drawing, he carefully rolled it up and handed it over to her. "You may have it."

Gently taking it, she looked at it and then to him wide eyed. "You would just give it to me? Why?"

"You like it. It was better than throwing it away." He gathered his things and went to stand, when she spoke again.

"You are too hard on yourself. Since you showed up here, everything you do has to be perfect." He sat back down and eyed her. "You know what I'm saying to you."

He was silent for a few minutes, and then spoke once more. "That was how I was raised. It is what I have always known. To be the best, you must do better than your best. You must be perfect." Altair looked back over the water and the dying light. "It is not something one can change."

Myriam laughed, and held the drawing to her chest. "I understand that. That is why I am good at what I do. People don't think a woman can be good as anything but something to keep the house clean and make babies. I don't want to be that person and so I'm not."

The wind kicked up and blew the scent of the salty sea air across his face. He had actually come to like the fragrance more than he would admit. It would be one of the things he would miss when he went home. "I will think on what you have said, Myriam. Thank you."

She smiled at him. "Thank you for the drawing. I think I might see if Lance can make me a frame for it." She stood and walked away, leaving him there with his thoughts.

**Sorry! I have been rewriting this for days and I still don't really like it, but I am tired of messing with it. I wanted a scene that Altair was called out on something. I chose him drawing and not really liking it. He is actually an artist if you looked at the codex pages from AC 2. He is also a stickler for detail and perfection. Connor on the other hand, I wanted him to still be conflicted between his father and doing what is required of him. I am still debating on killing Haytham. I know he dies, but he is such a great character! I could do so much with him. **

**I'm rambling, I'm sorry! I hope you like it. The fight in Fort George will be coming next. Until then.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I am changing a few things up with this. Like I said in the other chapter, I like Haytham. I think I will keep him alive… for now. *smiles* He is just an interesting character. Thank you again for the reviews. As for Tragedy of Melpomene's comment. I know in the game he can't swim, but being in a place that he would have to learn, he might have. Sorry, I had to think of something for the escape and that was about the only thing I could think of at the time, but I love people who are loyal to the game! Thank you for the comment! It brightened my day.**

Smoke was heavy in the air, threatening to choke him, as Altair tried to make his way through the destroyed sections of the fort. According to Connor's plan, the French naval vessels were to bombard the fort, creating a distraction while they, Connor and himself, slipped in unnoticed. Even the best laid plans do not come without a hitch. The cannons struck to close to their hiding area, and he knew he had been hit a few times by falling brick. Connor had blood running down his face from a gash above his left eye, and he swayed on his feet, suggesting he had taken a blow to the head.

Altair, on the other hand, felt the warm blood flowing from a place on his back from where a section of wall collapsed on him, and he was sure a few fingers were broke. He was beginning to think this was not the best plan, but they pushed through. They had to see this through to the end.

Most of the men had run from the fort once the bombardment started, so locating Lee would not be that hard. Unless he had fled in the chaos, then that would be bad.

Connor staggered into the center courtyard, holding his head not all that steady on his feet. "Lee!" He screamed.

"Charles is not here."

Both men spun around to see Haytham standing there, saber in his hand. Connor lurched for his father, but because of his injuries, all he did was stumble. "Where is he?" The Mohawk growled, pulling a pistol, leveling at his father's head.

"Gone. I sent him away to where you cannot touch him, son." The older man watched the assassins. "You should not have come here."

Grabbing for Connor to stop him from doing something he may well regret, he missed as the other assassin went after his father. "Give him to me!"

Altair, who was still in his right mind, stepped between the father and son. "Connor, back down." He then looked at Haytham. "Where have you sent Lee to? If you tell us where he is you can walk away with your life."

Haytham barked out a laugh. "You should know better than to think I will do that. Neither of you are in any condition to fight. I clearly have the upper hand here." He held his saber at the side, hand wavering over the pistol he favored. "I will allow you to walk away, and keep your lives."

This was not going as planned, but it could still be saved. Surveying the surrounding areas, trying to find anything that could turn the tides of battle, Altair finally saw it, but it was a long shot. Pulling a throwing knife out of his belt, he lobbed it towards the Templar, causing him to jump backwards. Using the momentarily distraction, the master assassin took off as fast as his legs could move, shoved Connor to the side, causing the other man to tumble to the ground.

The powder keg was just a head, and he heard Haytham pull the gun. Counting to three in his head, he heard the small explosion of the firearm. At the last second, he rolled to the side, and the keg exploded, blowing chunks of wood over the surrounding area, and knocking Haytham from his feet.

Altair was in pain from landing hard on his back, causing the wounds to bleed more. Looking up at the sky, he had to blink a few times, and let the world come back into focus. When he rolled over, he saw Connor standing over Haytham, who are unconscious, blade extended.

"I should kill him. I should rid myself and the world of him, but he has information I need." Connor growled and grabbed his father roughly by the collar of his clothing.

He struggled to his feet, ignoring the searing pain that the wounds caused. "Then grab him and let's go. We are in no condition to fight, just as he said."

Stumbling over to where the other assassin stood, Altair tried to shake the fog from his head. The pain was getting worse and if it kept up, he was not sure he would be able to push through. Connor threw Haytham over his shoulder, and set off for the tunnels.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Making it safely to the harbor, and aboard the _Aquila_, he ordered full sail and a hasty retreat from the city. The crew was more than happy to oblige. One of the men had come over and began to clean the wounds on Altair's back, while two more chained Haytham to the mast. They had no brig and nowhere to chain him to below deck, so the mast would work. They also took every weapon from him and placed them in Connor's personal cabin.

Robert walked over and looked at the two of them, shaking his head. "You really are a mad bastard, Connor."

"I know." Was his reply. His eyes were focused on the man in front of him, head against his chest.

"You should get yourself cleaned up. It is going to take some time to get back to the homestead the way we took a beating in that last fight." Robert began to walk back to the helm, and Connor followed.

Looking out over the bay, he could not help but sigh. "What is the extent of the damage?"

Joining him at the rail, the older man leaned on it. "We took on some water, so we are sitting a few inches below where we should. The cannons were nearly destroyed and six crewmen were injured. She's also listing to the starboard by a few degrees. We will have to take her to Martha's Vineyard for much needed repairs, but she will make it there under her own power, that I can assure you."

A yell in Arabic made him turn his head. One man was sprawled out on the deck, holding his nose, while Altair stood over him, screaming in his native tongue. "I think they reset his fingers."

Robert looked at his forehead where the cut above his eye was still seeping. "You should have that cleaned up. Don't need you to get an infection out here on the seas."

That earned the first mate a glare. "What are you, my nursemaid?"

The other man met the glare with one of his own. "You need one sometimes. I have never seen a more stubborn boy than you."

Connor's eyes narrowed at the man in front of him. "I have had a taxing day. Do not push me more."

"Then grow up, get cleaned up, and captain your damaged ship." Robert turned on his heels and headed back to the helm, plotting a course to the Vineyard.

"Connor."

He turned when he heard his name, but was not prepared for the bucket of water thrown into his face. Spitting and sputtering, his wiped his eyes to see Altair standing there holding the bucket. "Listen to your friend and clean your wounds. I allowed them."

"And I also have a crewman with a broken nose." He retorted. He would not be told what to do on his own vessel.

Altair shrugged and dropped the bucket. "He will live." Holding up his hand to show the three digits that were tied together. "I was not ready. That was why he received my forehead into his nose." Stepping up to him, he grabbed Connor roughly by the chin, examining the wound. "It is not deep, but you should clean it out before something gets into it."

Pulling back with a scowl, he grabbed the edge of his hood, pulled it up and covering the wound from prying eyes. "Don't you have something to do besides criticize me?"

The older assassin grabbed his undershirt and pulled it back on over his head, hissing when the fabric touched the wound. "I am on your ship. So the answer to your question is no, I do not." Bending over, he grabbed the ruined jacket, and let out an exasperated sigh. "I believe Ellen is going to skin me alive. This will be the second jacket she has had to mend for me." Sticking his hand through the rather large hole in the back, Altair shook his head. "But I do not think she will be able to mend this."

Looking down at his own clothes, he noticed various holes, and scorch marks in the white fabric. "I don't think she will be pleased with me as well. Maybe we should be thankful that she has plenty of fabric for us."

Altair's lips quirked into a lopsided grin. "We have become her best customers."

Both men began to laugh, but they both knew they would be yelled at once they returned to the homestead.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Once the _Aquila_ was tied safely to the dock, Amanda Bailey came down to them at a fast pace. "What did you do to the poor ship, boys?" She looked at the _Aquila_; eyes narrowed then turned her wraith on Robert. "Bobby! What did you get into this time?"

Holding his hands up, he took a step back into Altair, who shoved him forward. "She's not that bad, Mandy, honest. Just a few scrapes. Nothing the skills men here can't handle. Besides, it was Connor who was the mastermind behind this endeavor."

That got her focus to shift, and Connor mentally was throttling him now. "It was to capture someone."

She huffed and crossed her arms over her generous breasts. "Well, as long as you have your man. But I suppose you should come up and get something to eat. I assume you are heading back home soon."

He nodded, and gave her a small smile. "That is correct. I must get back without delay. Robert and the _Aquila_ will stay until repairs have been finished. If you don't mind putting him up, that is?" Mandy had a very big soft spot for the first mate.

"I guess I could do that. I will keep him away from the booze, Connor." She gave the older man a smile, and waved them forward.

Giving instructions to his men to not let Haytham out of the hold until their return, he followed Mandy and the other two men up to the tavern on the hill.

Once they had their seats, a hot meal and some ale, they settled in to eat. "So, are you in a hurry to head back? I have rooms available for you, Connor. You know that." Mandy sat with them as they ate their first descent meal in days.

Swallowing a spoonful of the stew, Connor shook his head. "We must head back. Many things have to be done as soon as time allows, but I thank you for your hospitality, Mandy, I truly do."

"I know you do. Now, are you going to introduce me to your new friend, or am I going to have to guess his name?" She looked over at Altair, who was quietly eating.

"This is Altair. He has been helping me with my journey." He answered.

When his name was said, the Syrian raised his head, and nodded. He was always listening. "A pleasure."

She smiled at him. "So polite." Her eyes went back to Robert. "Not like this lout."

Chuckling into his mug, he took a drink. He was not a large drinker, but he needed the warmth at this time. It would be a cold ride back to the manor. So he finished his meal, and asked Mandy for another plate to take to his prisoner. He would not tell her who he was, but she did not ask. Said it was his business.

Altair had stayed behind to wait on the supplies that they needed, while Connor walked back to the _Aquila_. Climbing down into the hold one handed was a challenge, but he made it. Haytham looked up from his place on a crate, trying to stay out of the foot of water that collected in the middle of the ship.

"I brought you some food. I thought you might be hungry." He sat the bowl on the crate next to his father and retreated a few steps.

Haytham looked at the food, then to his son. "Did you poison it? That way you would not feel guilt when I died? Or were you hoping the ship would sink along with me?"

Clinching his hands, he shook his head. "It is not poisoned, I assure you. Do you want me to show you? I will take the first bite. As for the ship, I have brought it in for repair. I do not want her to sink."

Barking out a laugh, the Templar reached for the bowl, brought it to his lap and began to eat slowly. "Where are we?"

Taking a seat on one of the other crates, he watched his father. "I will not tell you that. That way you will not try to escape."

Placing the spoon back in the bowl after a few bites, he shook his head. "You have taken my weapons and locked me in this hole. Most likely you have a few of your assassins stationed nearby. If I was to escape, I would not make it far before I was apprehended again."

If he believed that there were a few assassins around, he would tell him no differently. "You will ride back to the manor with myself and another assassin." He would not reveal Altair's name to his father. That may be asking for trouble. His father knew more about the Brotherhood than he did, since he was born into it. "Once we return, you will be guarded until either you tell me where I can find Lee, or until I do. After that, I will figure out what to do with you then."

Shaking his head, he began to eat again. "You are a fool, Connor. A brave fool, but a fool none the less. You speak of freedom and severing the chains that bind, but have you once thought about what that brings? Chaos, destruction, more pain. You cannot bring freedom without someone who knows how to keep it controlled. Even the assassins of old had their freedom, but not without someone to control the reins. They had one man to control where they went, who they assassinated. If left unchecked, do you not think that many well trained men would not have brought chaos upon the world?"

The words that came from Haytham's mouth had a ring of truth to them. He would question Altair about that once he had the older assassin alone. "But the way you go about it is wrong. You try to force your brand of 'peace' onto the people. Do you not think they should choose?"

A fire was alight behind Haytham's blue eyes. "The people do not know what they desire. You think they want peace?" He snorted. "Hardly. They just want safety, and food. They want food in their bellies and for someone to protect them. People need to be ruled over, told what to do. Even when they believe they have their freedom. It is a viscous cycle that has been going on for hundreds, if not thousands, of years."

Connor crossed his arms over his chest. "And you believe that? That people want to be ruled?"

Standing up, Haytham gave a small smile. "Look at the people around you, boy. You think that they know what they really want? No. They know what they want because that is what they have been told for years what they want. Money, food, protection. It is all the same, but comes from one voice that echoes down from the top. You are blind to the truth."

"Connor." He heard his name from above, and looked to see Altair drop from the upper deck, his boots splashed water as he landed. "The horses have been saddled and provisions packed. Have you secured the prisoner?"

Haytham sneered at the assassin. "Ah the unnamed assassin. I should have known you would be around. Does my son have you as his errand boy now?"

Growling, Altair took a step towards the Templar, blade extended. "If you were not his father, I would have already gutted up and left you out for the vultures."

"Glad to know." Haytham rubbed his hands together, a smile on his face. "Shall we be off? Not that I don't love my accommodations aboard your vessel, Connor. I really would love to get back to civilized life." Then he gave a pointed look at Altair, who glared at him.

Connor grabbed Altair's arm, and shook his head. "Calm down. He is doing it on propose."

Pulling his arm away, the older assassin climbed back up the ladder, and out of sight. His father smirked, and moved towards the ladder. "He is quick to anger. I rather like him."

"And his is also quick to kill. I would not test him if I were you. Besides, he is not my assassin. I have no control over him." Staying behind him, he followed him up onto the deck and towards where Altair stood with three horses.

The three men mounted with Connor taking the lead, Haytham in the middle and Altair bringing up the rear.

**I loved the interaction between Connor and Haytham. That was why I could not kill him off. Too much unresolved issues between them. Altair is not to hip on the man, but will only tolerate him because of his friendship with Connor. **

**Again, thanks to everyone that has been reading and leaving comments. You people are what makes me keep going. Next, we will examine the dynamics of Haytham when thrown into the wilderness. See ya!**


	6. Chapter 6

Two days had passed since their departure from the shipyard. Haytham had been guarded around the clock. One would sleep while the other watched him. The unnamed assassin was hard to understand, and even harder to read. His silence was unbearable, and when he tried to strike up a conversation with him, all he received was a cold look from those intense eyes.

Connor, on the other hand, was not as cold, but he was not exactly friendly. He would talk, yes, but not of important matters, like what was to happen to him once they arrived at this manor he spoke of.

They broke camp on the second morning, the other man patted the horse and was about to climb into the saddle when a woman's scream pierced the silence of the morning. A musket shot followed. "What in the bloody hell?" Haytham looked around, but saw nothing. More shots echoed though the small section of forest they were in currently.

"It came from that direction." Connor pointed to the valley ahead, climbing into the saddle of his mare and took off. The other man followed, and Haytham, not to be left behind, followed in hot pursuit.

Coming up over the rise, a group of Redcoats stood over a family, their bodies lay bleeding into the light snow that had fallen through the night, staining the ground red. He clinched his teeth and wished for a weapon. A short blade appeared in front of his face. He looked over at the hand that held it. It was as if the other man had read his mind. "I don't need you dead as of yet." The assassin growled and Haytham took it from him gladly.

"You have my thanks." He held on to it and the reins of the horse.

Charging into the soldiers, he came off the horse slamming one man into the ground; opening his throat with the blade he had been given. Blood gushed from the wound and the man gagged for air he would never receive, and Haytham moved onto the next.

He caught sight of Connor and the assassin slaughtering the men as they came near. One Redcoat grabbed him from behind, but slamming his head into the bridge of the man's nose caused him to release in a panic. He heard the sickening crunch as the cartilage broke in the nose, and as the man's arms released their grip, Haytham spun around, bringing the incredibly sharp blade into the man's chest. It went through the fabric, soft tissue and bone like it was cutting a fine steak. He had to know the secret to the blade.

Pulling it out of the young man's chest, blood ran down the blade, coating his hand, but he cared not. These men had just slaughtered a family. He may be an ass, but they deserved some type of justice.

In a matter of minutes, the twenty soldiers lay dead in the snow. He panted at the exertion in an exercise that he not done in quite some time. Connor walked over to him. "Are you injured?" There was concern in his brown eyes. Eyes that mirrored his dead mother, his beautiful Ziio.

Pushing the feeling that churned deep inside him down, he shook his head. "No. I am fine. Just haven't fought like that in quite some time."

Giving him a nod, he moved onto the other man. Haytham looked at the dead family. The mother lay on her side; blue eyes stared lifeless at the sky. The father, he assumed, was a few feet from his wife, hand reaching forward trying to touch her in death. A boy, no older than eight, lay with his face in the snow, but the baby was the one that nearly made him sick. She could have been no more than a few months old. Dark brown hair capped her head. They had stabbed the child in the chest.

Turning from the sight, he took a deep breath, and calmed himself. This family did not deserve to die. They did not deserve this fate. It sickened him to no end. As he stood there, trying to compose himself, he heard something on the wind. A soft cry of a child.

They must have heard it too, because they stopped what they were doing, and looked around. Trying to find the source of the cry.

Scouring the carnage, the assassin was the one that found the child, huddled under the wreckage that was once the family's wagon. He brought her forward. Thick, tangled brown hair fell down her back, face buried in the man's black jacket. She looked to be no older than two maybe three years of age, and just watched her whole family be brutally murdered.

Pulling off his cloak, Haytham wrapped it around the child. His heart wrenched in his chest. In a matter of minutes, this child was orphaned. For what? So these men could have some entertainment? Some sport? The thoughts made him sick.

"What should we do with her?" Haytham looked at the child once more.

"We take her back to the homestead. We cannot let her stay here." The assassin shifted the child, making sure she was completely covered.

Connor stepped forward. "But who will take care of her, Altair? I am sure I can talk to the ladies there to see if one of them will take her in."

Altair? That was his name? Something sounded vaguely familiar about that name, but he could not place it. "Until then, I say we give them a proper burial. This was senseless."

And so they took shifts, digging four graves. Two large ones and two smaller ones. Haytham even pitched in with the digging and holding the child. It took a few hours, but they were in the ground, and they were on their way. The small girl rode in the saddle with Altair, whom she had become attached to, but would glance back at him once in a while. He would offer a small smile, and she would duck back in front of her protector.

Connor rode up onto the side of him. "Thank you for helping to bury her family. You did not have to do that. Nor did you have to offer your cloak."

Looking ahead, he snorted. "I may be a monster to you, Connor, but a child is an innocent and should not have had to see what she saw today. She is young still, and may come back from this tragedy. I was more than happy to slay her family's murderers."

"You are a contradiction onto yourself, Father. You will kill men for information, and yet, you will kill men for killing a family." His son shook his head.

"I am good at two things in this world, son. That is words and killing. You would do well to remember that." He held his head high, and thus ended the conversation.

*/*/*/*/*/*/

Altair looked down at the small wisp of a child that shared the saddle with him. She had cried for her mother most of the day, and his heart ached for her pain. She said no other words as she sat there, holding onto the reins, and a small smile on her face. It was the only thing that made her smile. That and the small doll Connor has found when he was trying to find out where they had come from, or were heading.

He had asked her name once, but she buried her face into the large cloak Haytham had wrapped around her, and tucked the doll to her chest. He would try again once she was calmer.

Feeling her tug on the front of his jacket, he looked down into her clear gray-blue eyes. "Yes little one?" He asked her.

"Momma?" Her lip jutted out and tears welded up in her large eyes.

Sighing, he gathered her close. "I'm sorry, little one, but your momma is not here." Nor would she ever be again.

Tears began to fall again. Small sobs escaped her as she held onto him, the reins forgotten. He was glad the horse was well tempered and trained. He held her, and let her cry herself to sleep once more.

Connor was behind him, talking to Haytham, which left him to lead the way back. It was not hard. They were nearly there. A few more miles and they would be in the Homestead territory. It would be hard for the child to understand that her family was not coming back. He understood that better than most, but he was older than this girl when his father was murdered. His mother. He had never known his mother. They said she died in childbirth with him. His first victim. His father, Umar, was not neglectful, but was just never there when he was small. His life as an assassin took him far, but when he was home, he tried to spend it with his son.

When Umar died, they sent him off for training. That was when he started to come cold, distant. To love was to hurt. To hurt was to feel betrayal. To feel betrayal was to feel pain, and that got in the way of his duties as an assassin. But as he began to age, he started to learn that pain is what kept people going. Kept them fighting when nothing else was left. That was what kept him going when he learned of Adha's death.

_No_, Altair thought to himself, _I will not relive that memory_. Of all the memories he possessed in his twenty seven years that was the hardest for him to think of. Every time he thought of her, it only sent him into a tailspin of regret and self-loathing. If he had been faster, smarter, better at what he did, she would still be in his arms.

Closing his eyes, he slowing let out the breath he had been holding. He collected his thoughts and opened them once more. The young child slept on, unaware of the war raging in him at that exact moment in time.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor took the lead as they rode through the middle of the Homestead. Everyone looked up and smiled as they rode past. That was until they saw Haytham, then they watched him with a wary eye. Everyone knew who he was. It was common knowledge that he was the Templar's son. They looked similar to each other. The same facial features but the only difference between the two was Connor's skin was a shade darker and his eyes were brown like his mother's, not blue.

He glanced over his shoulder at the man in question. He had not tried to run once, which was a surprise. He just sat there, looking at everything as they past and all the while he was wondering if he was just trying to gain his trust so he could betray him later. Would it have been different if his parents had stayed together? Raised him together? Would his mother have died, or would have Haytham protected her? It was always there, in the back of his mind.

Shaking the depressing thoughts from his mind, he pulled up the reins as they came to the sables. His horse let out a whinny as he saw him. Swift screamed in response, hooves pawing at the ground. The horse had become attached to the brooding assassin, and for some odd reason, he found it amusing.

Haytham's boots connected with the hard packed earth as he jumped down from the saddle, stretching his body out from the long ride. Altair slid off with a little more care. The child was asleep in his arms, and he refused any help with her. It was strange that the hardened assassin would take to such a small child as he had, but at least Connor knew nothing would happen to her.

"Do you have him?" Altair asked as he gave a sharp look at the Templar.

He nodded and watched his father glare at the Syrian. "I don't think he will go far. Besides, where would he go?"

"Oh I could think of a few places." Altair traded barbed looks with Haytham. "Do not hesitate to yell if you need my assistance." Turning quickly, he walked up to the manor, but not before he gave one more icy look at Haytham.

His father walked over to where he stood. "I believe he does not care much for me, but I could be wrong." Looking at the manor, he shrugged. "Oh well."

Raising a brow, he just looked at the man next to him. "That man is one that you should not joke about. I can tell you, he does not like you, and he will not hesitate to kill you without a second thought." Loosening the girth on the saddle, he slipped it off the horse and sat it on the ground.

Haytham just shook his head and began to unsaddle his own horse. "Son, may I ask a question of you?"

Connor looked up at him, but his father was not looking at him. "What?"

"Why did you not kill me back at the fort? You had the chance when I was rendered unconscious, yet you took me with you." Sitting the saddle next to the first one, Haytham finally looked at him. His eyes gave nothing away, but there was a spark of something, a question deep in those blue eyes of his.

"I have questions." He turned from the man. "You have the answers. I could not get them from you while you could not talk." Placing the horse in the stall, he gave it some feed and moved onto the third one.

"Oh." Haytham put his horse into an empty stall, and did the same. "So what is to become of me now? I know I am not allowed to leave here, am I correct?"

Connor had not thought this far ahead. Keeping Haytham alive was a spur of the moment thought at best. "I guess you will be allowed to walk the grounds, but keep in mind, I will give any man here permission to kill you if you try to leave or try to cause harm to the people here."

"Connor, really? I just helped you destroy a group of Redcoats for killing a family. Do you honestly think I would harm one of your families here? Do you think so little of me?" The man stared at him, a tired expression on his face.

Thinking a moment, he gave only a one word answer that caused Haytham's eyes to widen in shock. "Yes."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

"Sir, they were spotted carrying Master Kenway off from the fort and onto a vessel. It was confirmed by a smaller vessel that the ship was indeed the Aquila." The young soldier bowed to him after giving him his report.

Charles Lee looked up at the boy. "So, the son has stolen the father and now his whereabouts are currently unknown." He massaged the growing pain in his temple. "Wonderful." The reports did not reveal anything new. "I need to find a way to flush them out of hiding."

"Will there be anything else, sir?" The young man stood at attention, waiting to be dismissed.

"You may go." He waved his hand, and stared at the maps. The assassin's village was a dead end. He was not there and hardly showed his face there anyway. No one, save for Haytham, knew where this Assassin compound was. He was not on that mission when they wiped them out, and anyone that was there, was now dead.

In a fit of anger, he cleared the desk in swipe of his arm. Chest heaving, he threw the map across the room. "Damn little bastard!" He yelled at no one. "Where in the world are you?!"

Silence greeted his ears, and with a huff, he slouched in his chair, fingers templed under his unshaved chin. He needed something that would pull the savage out of hiding and find out where he was holding Haytham. He cared not that the savage was the Grandmaster's son. When the boy was on the wrong side, there was nothing stopping him from killing him.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Altair knelt next to Connor's clan mother. The woman had listened to him, and smiled when he asked to see the orb once more. He had so many questions and the longer he was there, in this place, the more piled on him. They weighed him down, threatening to crush him under the weight.

"Your mind is clouded, and your heart is troubled, but I understand your pain." She nodded, and retrieved the box. "Maybe the spirits will be able to guide you in your journeys, just as they have guided Ratonhnhake:ton."

Oia;ner held out the wooden box and he took it with apprehension. He did not like this orb. It felt strange to him, held malice that he had never felt before, but the woman, spirit, was the only one that held answers. He cleared his throat. "Thank you."

She nodded and took her spot once more. "He does not know you are here, does he?"

"Who?" He met her eye.

"Ratonhnhake:ton. He does not know you have come here, does he?" She smiled gently and poked the fire, causing it to flare up once more.

Altair shook his head. "No. I told him I was heading into town to gather a few supplies that I needed. He has enough weighing on him for him to not worry about my problems."

"A noble reason." She nodded and placed another log on the fire. "Then you must hurry if you are to keep up the ruse."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and lifted the lid. The orb pulsed in its home, like it was crying out for him to touch it. Learn its secrets. Gently picking it up, a light, like the first time blinded him. Once his eyes began to see once more, the woman from the last time stood there, the same smile on her lips.

"You have questions. I see that in your eyes." She watched him, the smile never wavering.

"Nearly a year has come to pass and I am no closer to knowing what you want from me than I was when I met you the first time. I need answers." He glared at her. For some reason, in her presence, he felt the years of anger weld up in him, threatening to destroy the calm he had managed to hold on to.

She chuckled and the scene shifted to that of Masyaf. They stood on the outer wall, looking down at the training grounds. His eyes widened. "They cannot see us, so do not waste your strength in yelling for them. They are nothing but phantoms from your mind, Altair. You are needed here. Connor will become conflicted in his choices in the time to come. You know his pain. You have lived it. That was why you were chosen. Without simple guidance, he will flounder and fail. If that is to happen, the world will be in danger. You must not allow him to fail."

His eyes never left the boys training in the yard. How he missed home. The sun, the sand, the warmth. He could almost feel the heat upon his skin, the scents of the desert that lay just beyond the walls of the fortress. "And if he does fail? What becomes of me?"

"The world will burn."

Before he had time to react, he was staring up at the ceiling of the longhouse of Connor's people. His chest heaved from being forced back so quickly. Oia;ner stood over him, worry on her face.

"Altair, are you well?" She asked.

Slowly, he sat up, and tried to clear him mind, but the visions of Masyaf would not leave him. "I believe I am. I must go. I thank you for your help."

He placed the orb back in the box, closed the lid and held it out to her. She took it with a nod. "Take care, my boy that you do not let your thoughts consume you. Dark times come, and I feel you and Ratonhnhake:ton are in the middle of it."

She was correct on that. There was dark times coming indeed, and if they did not make the right choices, the world would burn. He could not allow that. Not with everything he had done to prevent it.

**I want to thank sweettea1 for the amazing reviews! They made me very happy indeed. I needed a good filler chapter and some added dynamics to the characters. See? Haytham's not a complete ass. Well he is, but I like him though. I want to thank everyone that has reviewed and put this story on alert. Everyone is awesome, and I check every day and read every comment. Those are the moments writers live for. To know people are reading. Again, thank you.**

_*Sassiersphinx*_


	7. Chapter 7

Haytham stared out at the endless white right outside of his window. For two weeks now, he had been held up in the manor, not being able to leave unless it was to take a walk around the village that lay just over the bridge. He had not been this isolated in years, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

Altair had avoided him like the plague and he was the same with the assassin. It was still bothering him that he knew that name, but could not place from where. It was at the edge of his brain, wanting to be remembered, but just would not come.

A knock on the edge of the door brought him back to his rightful mind. Connor stood there, the small girl looking out from behind the edge of his robes. She followed the assassins more than she followed him, but he would find her in his shadow at times, just watching. "There is food ready if you are hungry."

"Thank you." He inclined his head. "I guess she has not told her name yet?"

Connor shook his head, and with a sigh replied. "No. She has not said anything except 'momma' to anyone. Altair has said if she has not said anything in a week's time, he will think of a name for her."

Haytham wrinkled his nose. "Then she would have an awful name. Something from where he is from just will not do. She will need a proper English name if she is to blend into society."

That earned him a flat look. "Like Achilles named me 'Connor' because of what my mother named me. It stands out and would not do?"

Taken aback on what he had just said, he tried to correct himself. "What I meant son was…"

Holding up his hand for Haytham to stop, he just looked at him. "If it is complex, not English, or does not fit into your version of proper, it's not worth a damn. I get it. I guess my name isn't worth a damn to you."

"I can't even pronounce it! No one can!" He countered. "Hell, there are some English names that I still cannot say correctly."

Altair walked from his room at that time, stopping at the edge of the door. "I can say his real name now. It's Ratonhnhake:ton." He said it slowly and pronounced each part. "It really is not that hard of you want to learn." The icy look returned, which did not surprise the older man. Altair did not hide his hatred towards him, and he did not hide his dislike of the Syrian assassin. "And as for the name I was going to call her if she did not remember her own. It was not Arabic. It would be Kara. That was the only thing I know of my mother."

And with that, the man walked away, the little girl followed him. Haytham now felt like an ass and from the look he received from Connor, he knew he had been one as well. "Look, if you would like, I will try to start calling you by your given name."

"Save it." His son snapped, causing Haytham to just look at him. "You didn't give a damn about me until you saw me as a means to an end. Now that you are stuck here, you think you can try to be my father. Well you can forget it. While you are here, you are a prisoner. I am your warden. There is no father and son." And he too, turned on his heels and left.

"Bloody hell." He mumbled and returned to looking out the window. "Ziio, how am I to get through to that boy that I am not his enemy any longer?"

The snow outside danced across the landscape from the gentle push of the wind. He watched the snow drift and glisten in the afternoon sun. He knew Ziio was still watching out for her son, but him? He was not sure about. They parted on bad terms, but his heart would always be hers. No matter where she was. She was the first woman he had ever loved.

Taking himself from the window, he walked down the stairs to face his son.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor stared at the map. Altair had left nearly a week ago. He had claimed that if he stayed in the manor another day with Haytham, blood would be spilt and it would not have been his. So, he took himself from the house, and from temptation. He was now envious of that. Altair could leave at any time, but Connor was now stuck in the house with a man he could not stand.

He heard the front door open, and saw snow blow in from the storm that raged outside. Altair turned the corner, cowl in place, and a piece of cloth tied around the lower part of his face. Pulling it down, he pulled a newspaper from his satchel. "Lee has made his move. He has declared Haytham dead and us as the murderers." Tossing it down on the desk, he walked over and collapsed on the sofa. "You now have to make a move."

Looking at the paper, he read the article that was at least a few days old. "He has taken his time doing this. Why now? Why would he do this now that we have had Haytham a few weeks?" Questions piled up as he read on. "He thinks people will believe this?"

"Charles has a way with words. Even more so than I." Haytham walked in, and took the newspaper from his hands. Kara raced in and climbed up next to the Syrian, who pulled her up onto the sofa with him. "He can get anyone to believe that the sky is green and the grass is blue, if he tries hard enough."

Altair looked at him, a smirk on his lips. "How does it feel to be dead, Haytham?"

"I should ask you the same." He eyed the assassin, a slight smile on his lips. Connor and Altair both froze. Did he know the truth? The next words that came from his mouth confirmed their fears. "Oh come now. Do you think me stupid? I was raised by my father, who was an assassin after all. Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, famous Grandmaster of the Syrian Assassins. It was from you that things changed. You are how old?"

"Twenty seven." He spoke slowly, not truly believing his ears.

"Oh, then I mustn't continue. I guess I now know more of your life than you know yourself." Haytham gave a small 'I know all your dirty secrets' kind of smile. It was enough to want to gut him.

Connor was having a hard time believing as well. "When did you figure it out?"

"When you called him by name after we found Kara there." He gave the small girl a smile, which she returned. "I knew I had heard the name, yet could not understand from where. The weeks passed and it still itched at my mind to no end. Finally, I turned to the books in your library, and there it was. One of the old assassin books that chronicled the rise and fall of the Brotherhood."

He knew what book his father was talking about. Achilles had him read it when a snowstorm had them trapped in the house for a few days. It was an interesting read. Standing, he met his father's eye. "You cannot tell anyone. Not a soul."

Haytham clasped his hands behind his back, posture impeccable as always. "My dear boy. Who would I tell? I do not leave your little village and they surly would not know who I was talking about. Also I would look daft. An ancient assassin was running around the colonies, alive and well and almost six hundred years old. I would be locked up for lunacy for sure."

The two men let out a collective sigh. Connor was not crazy about his father now knowing Altair's secret, but it was out now. There were only two choices at this time. Kill him, or keep him hidden. For now he would have to stay hidden.

Altair broke the slight silence. "Where do we go from here? I do not know Lee well enough to assume any move that he would make. This is better left to the two of you." Pointing to Haytham. "As much as it pains me to say this, it will take your knowledge of the man, and then it will take your knowledge of the land, Connor. If this is to happen, you two must work together."

Haytham and Connor both turned to look at the Syrian, who just looked back with a blank face. "Are you mad? There is no way we can work together." Connor snorted, looking at his father. "I would rather face a firing squad."

"That can be arranged, son." Haytham grinned. "Just take me back to New York. I'm sure I could have something set up for you."

Father and son squared off, until Altair lobbed a knife into the desk. They turned their attention onto him. He stood there, Kara wrapped around his neck. "Grow up and begin to act like the men you are. I am not saying you have to like each other, but for the greater good, you must work together."

"And why should I help you two? All you have done is kidnap me, hold me hostage and berate me at every turn." Haytham sneered.

Connor got in his face. He was tired of the man's attitude. "And all you have done since I brought you here has been to complain about everything and degrade me for my choices. At least I did not betray everything that I grew up believing."

He knew he struck a nerve with that last low blow. His father got quiet, and when he spoke again, it was low, cold. "I did not betray my teachings. I took everything my father said to heart. I have survived because of the skills he once taught me. You know nothing of me, boy."

That brought a harsh laugh. "And you do not know me. My mother believed in what I was doing. She left you because of the choices you made, the life you live, and the path you follow. Does that tell you something? She loved you. She still loved you until the moment her soul left her body, and yet, you deny any wrong doing. Ever!" With that being said, he took himself from the study, up the stairs and slammed the door to his room.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Altair just shook his head. He had never seen any more stubborn men in his life than the two he was currently residing with. They fought, they screamed, and yet, they cared for each other. In their own messed up and completely unfathomable way.

"What are you smiling about?" He heard Haytham ask.

"I did not realize I was smiling." He let his face relax and go blank while he looked at the man in front of him. "I believe you should go apologize to him and try to get along."

"I did not start this argument. I believe he did." Standing straight and tall, the Templar looked straight ahead.

"You sound like a child." He rolled his eyes. The two of them were acting like children.

Kara squirmed in his arms to be let down, and so he sat her on the floor. On chubby legs, she walked over to Haytham, pulling at the front of his coat. "Mean."

Both men's eyes widened. That was the first thing she had said besides 'momma' since she was found. Haytham squatted down in front of her. "What did you say?"

"You mean." She scrunched up her nose, and stuck out her tongue, causing Altair to hide the laughter.

"Now little one, how am I mean?" He asked.

"You made him sad." And she pointed to the doorway.

Haytham turned his head to look at the doorway, and Altair sat down once more, completely fascinated that this little wisp of a girl was telling Haytham off. He rested his chin in his hand, and watched the scene play out.

"My friend. You made him sad." Kara stuck her tongue once more, and walked back over to Altair, who was about to lose it. It was very amusing.

"I believe she just told you off." He snickered at the older man.

Looking at the child, he sighed. "You are right. And in all rights, I was a bit harsh. I should go talk to him." He took himself from the room, leaving Altair and Kara.

Pulling a small bag from inside the satchel, he opened it to reveal some candies that he had bought in New York. Dobby and Jamie both thought it was amusing that while he was there for information gathering, he was also trying to find things a little girl would like. The hard assassin buying things for a little girl. They would not have believed it when Haytham had come back from speaking to Ellen one day with a small rag doll. He had said that the child needed something to play with, nothing more.

Altair knew why they were protective of her. Each one had lost a parent very young. He had lost his mother at birth and his father at eleven. Connor was barely eight when he lost his mother, and Haytham had lost his father at ten.

Kara squealed with delight when she put the first piece in her mouth. Grabbing for the bag, he held it out of reach. "You do not get all of it."

She pouted and stomped her foot. "Mean."

And thus it began.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor sat at a table with Stephane, Duncan, and Clipper at one of the taverns in Boston. It was a local bar with a bit of flair. A fight nearly every night, and void of all Redcoats. They could not enter without getting thrown out before they even got completely in the place, so it was safe for them to talk.

"Any word on Lee's movements?" Connor asked as he looked around the table.

"I heard a few days ago he was still looking for your ship. I would keep her out of harbors for now if you do not want to get into a fight." Stephane smirked, and took a swig from his glass.

Duncan shook his head. "I have not heard a word, I'm afraid."

The youngest man on the team looked around. "I heard there is a rather large bounty on your head, Connor. You and Altair. Every man from here to the Caribbean is going to be gunning for you. They also are looking for Haytham. I don't know why though. They want him dead as well."

That got his attention. "But Lee declared him dead. Why would he send people out to kill him?"

"To silence him, of course. Your father was the Grandmaster here in the colonies for many years. He would know more about Lee and their plans than anyone alive. Besides that, if anyone found out he was alive, they would never believe Lee again. He would lose the one thing that could save him. His silver tongue." Duncan gave a small smile.

Ideas were forming inside his head. A few good ones, but also a few longshots that he would save for a dire situation. "I need anything you can get me on these men that hunt us. It is time they become the hunted." He gave a lopsided smile and the others joined in. A good hunt was something everyone could enjoy.

"Will get right on that." Clipper nodded, and cracked a small smile. "So what about the others in New York? When will you tell them your plans?"

"Altair is there as we speak. He is gathering Dobby, Jamie, and Jacob to meet us at the homestead in a week's time? Do you think you can find any information before then?" He needed everything he could before he met with everyone. This was a team effort, and Haytham had finally agreed to share a bit of information about Lee. Maybe he would share it all if he knew his old friend wanted him dead.

Stephane looked around the table. "And what will your pa think when we all show up? Will we have any problem from him?"

Connor shrugged. "I do not think so, but the man is hard to predict. He is fine one moment, then the next he is telling me off about something, or threatening to end Altair's life."

"It sounds like cabin fever to me. He should get out more." Duncan chuckled at his own joke. He did as well. Haytham had not been away from the Homestead now for a month. He knew it was driving father insane to stay there with no one to talk to besides Kara, and whoever was checking on him. It was a kinder way to say his guard.

Sitting around talking to other people brightened Connor's spirits a bit. He had not left the manor in many weeks and he too, was suffering from a case of cabin fever.

The hours began to drag on and he knew he should return to the Homestead. The others agreed to meet and bring what they could find. He bid them a goodnight and headed out of the tavern. His horse was secured to the post outside and gave a greeting when he approached. Patting the gray, he checked the girth and made sure everything was alright.

Swinging to the saddle, he turned the horse for the frontier and the path that would take him home. He knew it well, and could most likely travel it in his sleep.

A few Redcoats passed by him as he gave them a wide berth. He could not risk open conflict right now. He was trying to stay inconspicuous and not draw attention to himself. If Lee was after him, and he was spotted warring with the soldiers, word would travel back to him that Connor had been out on his own. He could not let that man know anything until he was ready.

Passing a few men on the street, he heard one of them say something about his father. Bringing the horse to a stop, he slid down from the saddle and tied the horse up. The men had not finished their conversation yet, and he hoped to get something.

Letting his ears listen in on their conversation, he heard something rather disturbing. "Did you hear about the attack on Fort George a few weeks back? They claim that a savage stole into the fort and killed all the commanding officers and then captured, then kill a man named Haytham Kenway."

The second man sighed. "Just sad about the things in this country. I heard a family was slaughtered in the wilderness, along with a few dozen soldiers. They are blaming that on highway robbers. Sad, sad news. You can't even travel any longer without running eth chance of being attacked."

"I know. I had planned on moving my family south soon, but I don't think so now. I heard that they are holding Kenway's funeral in the morning in New York."

So Lee was trying to get him into the open. Having a funeral for a man that was still alive. Connor grabbed the reins of his horse once more. He would have to be in attendance. It was the burial of his father, none the less.

**Hello to all of you out there! I will not drag this out, but I want to thank each and every person who has reviewed this story. If I screw up a spelling please do not lob rotten veggies my way. I am having problematic time with my computer. I want to thank Nessie, salanaland, lol, Tragedy of Melphomene, and sweettea1 for the amazing reviews! I also want to thank my followers as well. You people out there in internet land, and beyond, are completely awesome!**

_*Sassiersphinx81*_


	8. Chapter 8

Altair crouched on the rooftop watching Connor as he made his way through the crowd. Dobby, Jacob, and Jamie were positioned throughout the crowd and up on the rooftops as well. He did not like Connor confronting Lee out in the open like this. Too many things could go wrong. Too many innocents could be harmed. This was the spur of the moment idea the younger assassin had come up with on his mad ride from Boston to New York. He was not overly thrilled with it, but he followed none the less.

Watching the younger man, slowing make his way to where Lee was ranting about him and Connor, Altair made his way across the rooftop, dispatching a guard, and then jumping the expanse of the two roofs. He crouched next to Jacob, who watched with a critical eye.

"I do not like this, Altair. He is wrapped up in his revenge that he does not see this will end badly." The assassin shook his head, but kept a watch on their leader.

The Syrian nodded in agreement. "But that is why we are here. To watch his back to make sure no harm comes to him. Dobby is in position to distract the guards if she must and Jamie has set up an ambush point for us to take them down. I will handle Lee if it comes to that."

Nodding in response, he moved on to where Jamie was hidden behind a chimney. "What does that fool boy have planned now? All he is doing is moving forward."

Altair just looked on. He saw Dobby standing near Lee but not close enough for him to see her. "I do not know, but I wish I did. It would leave us better prepared for what is to come."

They watched on as Connor pushed his way through the crowd. Lee stood by the grave that was for Haytham and he knew it was empty. Haytham was at the homestead, guarded by the men and women who called the place home.

Something to his left caught his eye. Four soldiers made their way through the crowd. They had spotted Connor, but there was nothing any of them could do to get to him in time. If they were to jump down, and rush to his aid, that would be exposed. Altair held up his hand for them to hold. He knew Connor would be able to escape if he had to. He hoped he was right.

The four assassins watched as Lee's men grabbed their leader from behind. Forcing him in front of Lee then to his knees, Altair almost went off the edge and into attack, but Connor turned his head just enough to make eye contact and give a slight shake of his dark head. He had something planned again. He really needed to stop planning in his head and tell his group what he was thinking.

Trying to stay in the shadows, he leaped across the roof once more, and came up close enough to hear the conversation. "…you will live long enough to see everything you hold dear be destroyed. Then when that has come to pass, I will give you the death you seek."

Connor's lips quirked and he spit at Lee's feet, causing the gangly man to take a step back. "Clap him in irons, and lock him away. Make sure he cannot escape."

He so desperately wanted to strike then, but he could not kill Lee without the whole populous of New York seeing him. Signaling the others to keep tabs on Lee while he followed the guards.

Leaping into the hay cart, he rolled out and turned the corner, only to find Connor's fist connecting with the last of the guards. "You must start telling us what you have planned if we are to help."

The younger man shook out his hand, and clinched it a few times. "I had nothing planned. It was a spur of the moment type of plan that I think went off rather well." He gave a lopsided grin and bent down to relieve the men of his stolen weapons. "We must get back to the Homestead. Lee means to burn it to the ground, and kill everyone there."

Altair's eyes widened. "It will take three days to return. A day and half if we do not stop and ride the horses hard."

"Then we must ride hard." He said, rebuckling the hidden blade. "We cannot risk his men getting there before we do."

"And what of the others? They are tailing Lee even as we speak. You must tell them of your plans and not leave them in the dark as you have in the past. That is part of being a leader." Altair followed him, all the while thinking that Connor was not in his right mind. "We must get them to help. You and I cannot fend off an army by ourselves and you know that."

Reaching out, he grabbed the boy's arm and spun him around. Murder shone in his light brown eyes. "I hear what you are saying. I understand, but if they mean to march on my home once more, I will kill any man that threatens it."

"You are talking nonsense! Listen to yourself! I will gather the others. Lee will be heavily guarded, but we will take him once the threat to the Homestead has been dealt with. Ride for home and I and the others will meet you there." Altair knew that is must be one of the choices the spirit was talking about. The dark times were upon them, and left unchecked would burn a path through everything Connor held dear.

Giving a simple nod, Connor took off for the Homestead while Altair ran to catch up with the other assassins. He found them on a rooftop overlooking a small dockside warehouse. Jamie looked up at him as he made his way across the peaked rooftop.

"Lee has hidden himself in there. Shall we go after him?" The man asked.

Shaking his head no, Altair looked down to see a few guards patrolling the perimeter of the building. "No. There are more pressing matters that need our attention. Lee will not leave until he had destroyed every last assassin in the colonies. He will be left alone for right now. We must make for the homestead. Lee means to destroy it first and we cannot allow that to happen. Connor has already begun the trek there and we must follow."

Dobby looked up at him, her eyes bright with the idea of helping others. That was the one thing Altair admired in the spunky woman. "And the others in Boston? Should we not alert them? They would be some help in this confrontation."

"That would be helpful. Who will be willing to ride and collect the others? I must get back, so I cannot make the detour." He looked at the guards once more. They would not be going anywhere yet.

"I will." Jacob spoke up. "I will run to Boston to grab the others and will meet you at the homestead."

Laying a hand on his shoulder, Altair nodded. "Thank you and may you have a swift travel."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Haytham walked the path through the village, trying to keep an eye on the small girl that ran in front of him. One of the women, Catherine, said she would keep her while Connor and Altair went off on one of their information gathering sprees, but once they had left, Kara turned up back at the manor. She had run away once Catherine had her back turned, and run straight to the place she knew of as home. Not really wanting to see the child cry, he took it upon himself to watch her for a time.

It had nearly been a week since they had set out with the little bit of information he would tell. He may have thought of Charles as a friend, but the man had declared him dead, so there was no returning to the city now. He was, in all aspects, stuck in this little town in the middle of the woods.

Kara skipped down the path, smile in her face and watched the people go about their lives. Even when the temperatures were chilly, the people still went on with their lives. Dave was in his forge, pounding on some metal, while off in the distance he could hear the sounds of Godfrey and Terry felling some timber. Myriam could also be heard a ways into the think forest, the sound of her musket echoing through the trees. He would never admit that he had learned all of their names in the time that he had been here.

When the path began to thicken once more with old growth of the forest, he knew that they were to the end of where he was allowed to be. It was not like he could run off. There was nowhere for him to go.

"Kara." Haytham called for the girl and she walked to his side, dress splattered with mud, and a bit on her face. "You are a mess, child."

She giggled at him. "I like messes."

"And I am sure you do, seeing that you are a child, but we must head back." He sighed and began the trek back to the manor, when she stomped her foot.

"No. I don't want to." And with that being said, she took off like a ball from musket, diving into the underbrush, leaving him to chase her.

"Kara! Get back here. I will not chase you through these God forsaken woods." He took off after her, trying to keep her in sight, but the child was quicker than he knew and soon, the woods had swallowed her up, leaving him standing there, slightly out of breath.

He called for her once more, and listened to see if could hear her small footsteps, but heard nothing. Then, when he was about to begin his search, he heard her small scream, and with renewed energy, he raced to where it originated from.

Three soldiers, coats smeared with mud and muck from the road, were gathered around the small child. One had a hold of her arm, yellow teeth grinning down at her. Kara pulled at his arm, trying to get away, but she had not the strength to escape.

"I would leave the child alone gentlemen." Haytham walked from the bushes and Kara turned at the sound of his voice. Tears spilling down her cheeks, leaving streaks through the dirt that covered her small face.

"And what are you going to do about it, old man?" The closest one sneered and pulled a pistol from his holster.

"I will kill you if you do not." He replied calmly and took another step forward. "I do not believe you know who you are messing with."

The second man laughed. "All I see is a man who is asking to meet God." The brute took a knife from his belt and held it in his hand.

The third held onto Kara, and would not release her. Haytham sighed. "You are just asking for death, gentlemen. You can either let the child go, and leave with your lives, or you can continue down the path you are on now, and I will kill the three of you without hesitation. The choice is yours."

The third, who must have been their leader, shook his head. "Kill him."

The brute with the knife rushed him. Sidestepping his attack with ease, Haytham pulled out the small dagger he had found at the manor. Like hell he was not going without some form of protection, even though he could kill a man with his bare hands.

As the man stumbled to a stop, Haytham planted the dagger into the back of his neck, severing the spinal column and giving him a new hole to breathe from. Turning once more, he looked at the next two. "Are you ready to leave?"

The one with the pistol raised it up, ready to fire, when he threw the dagger, lodging it into his chest. The man fell over dead instantly. Seeing his two comrades dead on the ground, the leader released Kara and began to run, but in one fluid motion, Haytham scooped up the discarded pistol, and shot the retreating man in the back. He dropped like a stone, and began to bleed out from the wound in his back.

Dropping the pistol, he picked Kara, who shook like a leaf in the wind, and held her close. "They did not hurt you, did they?" He asked as he set off for the manor once more, but taking in his surrounding, he noticed he was hopelessly lost.

"Now what am I going to do?" He asked out loud. He was not the best in the woods. Not by far, but he knew there was a small river that ran through the middle of the Homestead and possibly could find his way back of he was to find a path, or that river to start off with.

Listening for running water or the sounds that he knew from the times he adventured through the small community, he stepped over a few fallen trees and around some shrubs. He did not think they had run that far from the main road, but he was not sure at this point.

Stopping near the top of a rise, she sat Kara on a rock. "Now, I want you to be a good girl and sit right here. I am going to the top of that hill," and he pointed it out to her, "to see where we are. We cannot wander around these woods all day with no sense of direction."

He was not sure if she understood, but pulling her knees to her chest, she sat there. Letting out a sigh, he made the small trek to the top and instantly stopped. What he saw was enough to make his heart stop dead in his chest. Several tents were set up, men in British red and American colony grays and blues walked around the encampment. There looked to be a hundred or so men, getting ready for a fight.

One man he recognized walked out of the larger tent, and he strained his eyes in the dying light. Marcus McCain stood there, head held high, surveying the troops that milled around the camp. "Bloody hell." He whispered to himself. McCain was Lee's cousin and right hand man when it came to dirty deeds.

_Why would they be out here so far?_ He asked himself, and then it hit him. They mean to attack the homestead. Charles was with him when he took out the assassins many years ago and knew where Achilles had set up at. Knowing that the Old Man had been training Connor, he would know where to launch the attack at.

Wasting no time, he spied the road back to the homestead, but knowing McCain as he did, he also knew the man would have the road blocked. The only way back was through the woods. He could do this. He may not have any loyalty to the people there, but they were not fighters. They were farmers, carpenters, and people who had just wanted a fresh start.

Sliding down the hill, he scooped up Kara. Looking her in the eyes, he took on a serious tone. "I need you to be extra quiet for me. No more fussing and no screaming. Do you understand?" Her large gray-blue eyes looked at him, and she nodded her dark hair. "That's a good girl."

There was no time to loose, and with the child in his arms, he set off through the thick underbrush, wishing at this late hour, he had taken those lessons about the forest from Ziio many years ago.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor's horse slid to a stop as he came up the road. A platoon of soldiers blocked the way into the homestead. He knew if he tried to run through, he would earn a few musket balls in his body as souvenirs, and he could not have that.

Sliding from the saddle, he gave his horse a thump on the flank, signaling the horse to take off in the direction they had come. The gray was smart and knew how to return home, so he was not overly worried about losing the horse. What he was most concerned about was the men a hundred feet or more up the road, heavily armed and waiting for their orders.

If only he had waited for the others, but if he knew Altair, the Syrian would be bringing the cavalry with him. Seven men and a woman could take down the men that lay up the road, but he knew in his gut there was more than that somewhere.

Taking to the trees, he leapt the expanse with practiced ease. The forest began to thin and so he had a few problems staying aloft in the cover of the branches. Some movement caught his eye as he looked around, scouting for any more men that would have broken off from the hoard. A lone man made his way through the brush, trying to stay near the road, but far enough away to not be seen.

Turning on the branch, he followed him, trying to figure out who he was. Switching to the vision he had honed since he was a child, the man was incased in blue, allowing to see that he meant no harm to him. Once he was closer, he swung down in front of the man, rolled and came back onto his feet.

"Damn it son, you nearly gave me a heart attack." Haytham hissed at him.

Narrowing his eyes at his father, he asked. "What are you doing out here? You were told to not leave the grounds of the homestead."

Pulling back his cloak to reveal a sleeping Kara nuzzled in his arm, he sighed. "The child ran from the woman you left her with. So I spent the day walking with her. When I told her it was time to go back, she took off through the woods. I could have listened to you, but instead I ignored your words and went after her. That was when I killed three men who meant to do her harm, and found McCain's encampment."

Connor looked from Kara to his father. "First of all, thank you for going after her. Two, who is McCain?"

"A sadistic son of a bitch that is Charles' cousin and right hand man now. He thrives on slaughtering people. He does not care if they are innocent, or soldiers. He will kill them." Haytham looked around.

"And you associated with him?" That was enough to make Connor want to punch him, but he was holding Kara, so he refrained.

Haytham glared at him. "Of course not!" He hissed. "I despised the man. I told Charles that he was to have no dealing with that man while I was in charge. I wanted freedom through peaceful means, not brute strength. That was why I killed Edward Braddock. He was much like McCain in that aspect."

Snorting, Connor motioned him to follow. He had to get them back to the homestead and warn the others. "Peaceful means, huh? Is that why you started the Boston Massacre and tried to pin it on me? Or how about some of the things Johnson did to my people? Trying to take their land." He was not going to listen to his father's 'peaceful means' story again.

"I have explained that to you, Connor, but now is not the time to argue about these things. You must stop them and I wish to help. I hate that man more than you know." Reaching out, he pulled Connor to a halt. "I will not betray you in this fight. This is bigger than the feud between us. This is to protect the people that cannot protect themselves and I will not sit back and idly watch as you and your assassins try to take on McCain and his men."

He knew what his father was saying was the truth, as much as it hurt to believe. This was larger than any grudge that they had between them. Exhaling, he looked at him. "Fine. I want you to get back to the homestead and warn the others to make their way to the _Aquila_. Robert will know what to do. We have a plan in place just in case something like this did ever happen. Your equipment is in the basement. Next to the kitchen, grab the candle holder on the wall, and pull down. It will open the hidden door. Do not make me regret telling you where it is."

"And the child? Who should take her?"

"Any of the women. Try for Ellen or Prudence. She likes them the best." He looked back up towards the road and heard the sound of horses in the distance. It was either Altair and the others, or it was more of McCain's men. Pointing to a small path just to the east of them. "This will take you out behind Prudence and Warren's Farm. Tell them to spread the word, and meet back up with us at the bridge."

Nodding once, Haytham began to take off, but stopped and looked at Connor. "Be careful son."

"You too." And he ran the opposite direction, hoping to intercept the others before they ran into the ambush.

**Wow there was a lot of things going on in this chapter. I hope everyone enjoyed it. The comments are great! See ya!**


	9. Chapter 9

Connor had always heard people say things like 'the air was so thick with tension that you could almost cut it with a knife'. He had not understood that until that moment in time. From his place in the trees, he could see where everyone had taken a place to hide. Dobby, Jamie, and Stephane had taken places along the road, ready to ambush the soldiers at specific points on the road. Clipper had taken to one of Myriam's stands that was off the road a bit, but close enough to see the men that came past. Duncan and Jacob were near the end of the road that opened up into the village. He was hoping the hoard of men that marched on them did not make it that far.

Altair and Haytham had set up in the trees with him. Altair, who was a great climber, had taken to the trees well, and could manage to walk carefully on the branches, but his father could get into the trees, but was not well enough to make the leap between the sturdy branches.

Sweeping the area, he knew where the mines had been set and the other traps laid. They had hoped to then their numbers before they got to the ambush sight where the eight assassins were, and the one assassin turned Templar lay in wait.

He could hear the drums in the distance, signaling that the men were on the march. _The drums of war_, he mused to himself. It was not war that these men were marching to. It was to slaughter innocent men and women, and for that, it would cost them dearly. He felt his teeth grind at the thought of what these men were about to set out do.

Altair signaled him with a bit of the dying light off the edge of his blade. He was the closest to the ambush point. That meant the first wave was approaching the trip mines. When those were set off, a few trees would fall, compliments of an idea from Haytham, and crush some of the men on the front line.

The footfalls grew closer and he felt his heartbeat speed up. It always happened when a fight approached. A few steps closer was all that was needed. And that was when it started. The first mine were set off and it started a chain reaction that followed. He watched in a morbid fascination as the three or four trees that had been prepped began to tip and fall. It had happened just as they thought it would.

Chaos ran through the men as they dodged the falling trees and the explosions from all sides. They may have gone a little overboard on the trip mines, but Connor did not think about that. Hearing the screams and confusion of the front line troops was all the three assassins needed to start. He watched through a spyglass as the two men and one woman used the chaos to begin to thin the ranks. Men fell to the blades, but before anyone could react, the assassins were gone, retreating back into the shelter of the woods and shadows.

Haytham moved slightly to his right. He eyed his father and saw that he was readying himself. The others on the ground were shifting as well. They stayed hidden, and it took many minutes for them to begin to move once more, but they moved at a caution that would suggest that they now had fear in continuing, and they had every right to feel that way.

They moved, but watched every direction. Their eyes wide and their movements jerky, like they could feel something was coming but they did not know form where. That was what the assassin had been hoping for. Put them on edge and then with a swift and unseen push, watch them fall over the precipice.

The hoard, maybe twenty less, moved into the second position. Clipper readied his musket, looking for the best possible shot, and once it was open, he took it. Felling the man, Jamie threw down a few smoke bombs, concealing himself in the thick gray fog. The men that were near him began to cough and gag on the thick, rancid smelling smoke that was emitted from the small bombs that they used. As Jamie began to work, at least another ten fell, leaving their forces scared and beginning to try to pull back, but their commanding officers would not allow.

Once the smoke cleared and they saw more of their fellow soldiers dead, they were hesitant to move forward, but under penalty of death, they were told to march forward. Clipper set up the next shot, and before he knew it, one of the men fell from horseback, sightless eyes staring into the gray covered sky. The men began to scatter.

Connor heard their leaders yelling to fall back into formation, but some, obviously scared, broke away, running through the woods, trying to escape death. It would do no good at this late stage on the road. If they kept up their advance, they might be able to cut their size in half before they made it into the clearing that was the village.

The winds shifted and he could nearly taste the blood in the air, the pungent stench of burnt flesh wavered past his sensitive nose, nearly making his stomach turn. It was now up to him and Haytham once they began to march once more.

Turning once more, he spared a glance at his father, who pointed to the back to the pack. Looking to where he was pointing, he could see a man atop a white horse, watching the disaster from the top of the rise. That must be the man Haytham had called Marcus McCain.

Once the soldiers were into formations again, they began to march. Catching a small wave from Clipper, who was ready once more, he nodded his dark head, and the shot rang out through the silence of the wood again. Another man fell, his face buried into the mud.

That was enough to scare the others. "Retreat!" The order was given and the men did not think twice. The scattered like grapes shot as they tore past their officers and fellow men, trying to escape the death trap that was the woods.

Connor could not help but crack a smile. It went off well, but it was not over, not by a long shot. He knew in his gut that they would be back and they would be ready for another ambush, but the men were frightened, and they could use that to their advantage.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Haytham dropped from the tree and straightened the fabric of his clothing. He watched his son and the other assassin come down as well. Connor had a slight grin to his tanned face, but he knew the men were not done. They had put a hurt on the troops but McCain would not give up that easily.

"You do know they are just going to march again, correct?" He looked at his son as he approached. "They will not fall for the same ambushes."

Walking towards where the others were, he nodded. "But this will give us a bit more time. At least we have taken a few down and that does mean a small victory for us."

The older man just shook his head. "No it does not. It just means that we have a few less men to deal with when they come back. And they will come back, Connor." He knew McCain would not stop until either all his men were laying pools of blood, he was killed, or the Homestead lay in smoldering ruin at the hooves of his horse.

"Must you always be so negative?" His son glared at him from the depths of his hood. "For once, a plan actually worked the way it was thought up."

"I am just telling the truth. You must see that. Hell, I believe Altair will tell you the very same thing I have just said. This was not a victory by any stretch of the imagination." He gave a flat look in response. The boy was annoying sometimes and he did look on the bright side of things. He, on the other hand, looked at it as they had won a small battle, but it was far from over.

A grunt was the only thing he heard, but he knew Connor was calling him many unflattering words in his head. He had already heard it before, and would so again. It was something he was accustomed to.

They approached the others, who were wrapping wounds they had sustained. From the looks of it, none of them were in danger of dying any time soon. Altair looked up at them as they took the last few steps. He tightened the wrap on his arm, and nodded in acknowledgement of their arrival.

"If you are here, I would take it they have retreated for now?" He asked as Jamie tied it off for him. He flexed his fingers and walked over.

"You would be correct. They will be back though." Haytham glanced around at the group of assassins.

The Templar training in him was at war with the assassin in him saying to kill them all now, and rejoin Lee. If they were gone, it would be easier to finish what had been started, but that would not solve anything at this moment. All that would do would be to get many innocent people killed, and as much as he did not want to admit it, he had come to respect the people that made this wilderness their home. It took courage to leave everything you once knew to make a life somewhere else.

"Haytham."

He turned to the person that called his name. Altair met him with a dark look. "Can I help you?" He asked with a raised brow.

"If you are thinking of pulling anything, I will cut you down." The Syrian glared at him. Sometimes he wondered if the man could read minds.

Giving him a smile, he held up his hand. "Merely thinking about what had just transpired."

That got a nod from him. "Good. Keep it that way."

Connor stepped between them. He knew if they were left to their own devices, Haytham and Altair would come to blows. As much as the older man would love to test his skills against the Grandmaster, he could not do that at this time. There was much work that still needed to be done, but maybe after everything was done, he might try. "Alright son, what is our next move?"

Connor looked at the older assassin for advice, who just shrugged and walked away to tend to the others. "You are no help."

Altair let out a small chuckle. "You are the leader here, not I. This is your call, Connor. Do not expect anyone to take command because you cannot think of something."

Haytham was impressed. He would have thought that Altair would have stepped in and taken over, but apparently, he must be trying to teach Connor a few lessons. He cleared his throat. "If I may stick my nose in here for a moment."

"No you may not." The Syrian answered.

"I was not talking to you." Haytham snorted. Turning to Connor, he grabbed his son's shoulder. "I say we take the fight to their camp."

The others lifted their heads up and looked over at that suggestion. One of the assassins, Jacob, he believed it was, stepped forward. "That is suicide. There are far too many men there and far too few of us to pull that off."

Connor had a look of thought on his face. He was actually thinking about it. "No, Haytham has a point, but it would not be all of us. Only one, maybe two. If we were to take out McCain in the middle of their camp, that would stop everything. They would run."

Every set of eyes turned to look at the leader of the assassins. "You cannot be thinking of that, Connor. That is insane!" The only woman stood up and walked over.

A smirk passed his lips, and Haytham was actually feeling kind of proud. "I have done far more insane things since I have become an assassin. Fort George?"

Everyone shrugged on that one. That was pretty insane, but not a half bad plan. Having French ships sail in under the cover of British flags, and then bombard the fort. It had been a good plan that he had been caught in.

"Do you plan to go alone, or take another with you?" Altair stepped forward.

The boy was in deep thought about that choice. Finally he looked at the group. "I would like everyone as back up, but that cannot be done. They would notice all of us being there and if they were to come back while I was making my way through their ranks, there would be no one here to guard the Homestead." Looking at Altair, he asked. "Will you stay with the others and guard the Homestead?"

Altair bowed head. "I can do this, but you had better stay on your guard, Connor."

"I will." He nodded, and then to everyone's surprise, he looked at Haytham. "You said you wanted to help. Now here is your chance. You know this man, and you told me you do not like him. Help me take him down."

**I know this chapter was short, but I have a few things in the works that are going to take a lot of time in the following chapters. Also I have rewritten this like three times, and I am still not thrilled with it. Just so I can move on, I am going to post it. Please be kind. Please? (Puppy dog face)**

_*Sassiersphinx*_


	10. Chapter 10

"What do you mean you can find no trace of the assassins?" McCain blew up and scowled at the man in front of him.

The young soldier gulped and took a step back. "They have hidden themselves in the brush and wood, sir. Not a trace of them has been seen. It is as if they are phantoms."

McCain pinched the bridge of his nose. "They are just men. Flesh and blood as we are. I want them found and eliminated. Then I want that damn place burned to the ground."

"Yes sir, and the head assassin, Connor?"

That was the one Charles wanted brought in alive, but if he had to kill him to get to his target; that was what he would do. "If you can take him alive, do it, but if resists, kill him. Now get out of my sight."

The young boy ran from the tent and McCain poured a small glass of whiskey. The booze burned its way down to his gut and warmed him somewhat. The weather was horrid this time of year and he wished to move south to find more land, and more conquests. These small land skirmishes here were not worth his time. The only reason he was her was for a favor to his cousin.

That and to find Haytham Kenway. He despised the man, and once he had heard that he still drew breath, McCain had told Charles that he would do it for Johnson's old house. That was all that he wanted. The arrangement had been struck and his men had filed out the following morning.

Now they sat here in these Godforsaken woods, trying to find a few assassins and an old Templar.

He had lost twenty nine good men earlier to their antics and he had a feeling they were not done, and neither was he. He would not stop until they could see the smoke from Boston. He would burn it all to the ground and there was not a man alive that could stop him.

He poured another glass and downed it as quickly as he did the first one.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor and Haytham looked down at the camp from the safety of the trees. A few hours had passed since they had made the attempt on the homestead. They had sent a few men out to look for them, but they were either killed or scared out of their minds. Altair and the others were doing a good job at running them off.

The moon hung high in the darkened sky, casting the area in a slivery glow. Some fires were still burning, but most had been extinguished for the night and the men sleeping off the fear of the day.

They observed the movements of the guards and the rounds that they were making. They had no intentions of moving until they were absolutely sure they could make it through without waking every man in the camp. That would spell doom for them.

So the hours dragged on, Connor would doze a bit, tying himself to a branch so he did not fall from his perch as Haytham watched, and then they would switch.

It was nearing dawn when they thought they could make their move. The guards were getting lazy and some would not even patrol the whole grounds. There were gaps in their defenses. It would be easy to get through if their timing was right.

Slipping from the trees, Connor led the way into the camp with his father on his heels. They carried the minimum of gear. A knife, their hidden blades, and a few smoke bombs for if they had to make a quick escape. Connor had changed into a set of black robes, but Haytham's blue coat and cape blended in enough with the night so that he could vanish if necessary.

Staying away from the light of the few burning fires, they caught the first set of guards lounging by a fire, trying in vain to warm their frozen fingers. The temperatures were downright frigid tonight.

Working together, they dispatched the four sentries with ease, dragging their bodies back into the surrounding woods. Once that was completed, they began to move deeper into the camp, killing any man that came near where they were hiding.

Connor moved from tent to tent, checking to make sure the men were still asleep. Haytham was farther along, nearing McCain's tent. He waved his son forward, and he ran quickly over to where he was standing.

"We have a problem." He whispered.

"And that is?" He raised a brow.

Pointing his thumb at the larger tent. "He's not in there."

"What?" Connor hissed. This could not be happening, but they had little to no trouble making their way into the camp, so something had to go wrong.

"Sorry son and I was so looking forward to killing the bastard." Haytham ground out.

Letting a sigh pass his lips, he closed his eyes for a minute and then looked up. "Where the hell did he go?"

"I have not a clue."

"Get them!" A musket shot rang out and ripped a hole not a foot from the right of Connor's head.

"Well, they know we are here now." Connor broke to the left and Haytham broke to the right. It was not going to be a fun filled father and son night that was for damn sure.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

"Altair, shots have been fired at the camp!" Clipper yelled from his perch in the large tree.

The Syrian raised his head from its momentary resting place on the tree behind him. "How many?" He knew that the two did not take pistols with them and were only carrying the minimum amount of gear. That way they could slip around unencumbered.

"A dozen or more. I think they were found." He called back.

"Great." Altair snorted. "Stephane! Jacob! Wake the others! I am heading to the camp. Hold your positions here and do what you can if they come this way. If you cannot hold them back without getting hurt, let them through. I will not have people killed over a few empty buildings. They can be rebuilt, lives cannot."

And with that, he was running down the road, pouring out his energy, praying to anyone that was listening that he would not be too late in saving them, or at least making sure they had a way out.

As he came up on the rise, he heard more shots fired, and a few men cry out for help. It was not the voices of Connor, nor was it Haytham, so he knew they were still fighting. He pushed his way through the mud that coated the ground from all the snow melt. The ground was frozen in some areas, but others it was worse than wet sand.

Finally having enough of the mud, he found a good starting tree and climbed. Quickly making his way across the branches, he came to the camp. The men were in an uproar and he could hear the firing of the muskets. Spying a branch that hung over the edge of the fight, he made his way to it, pulled out a smoke bomb, and let it drop to the ground.

Grayish smoke filled the area, and switching to a sense that he still, after many years of using it, did not understand how he had, he saw the men through the haze. Only a few, say three or four, had been close enough to be affected. Leaping from the tree, he felt his hidden blade connect with flesh and with the momentum from his jump; they carried him to the ground.

Retracting it with a slight tug, he could hear the gurgle of blood mixing with the air in the man's windpipe, blocking off any air from getting to the lungs. But he did not have to worry about breathing, because the kill was swift and the strike precise. He would live no more than a minute at best.

Seeing another incased in the red haze from the vision, he spun around, feeling the mud grab at his boots, but it did not hold him. If anything, it helped in his movements. He felt he could slide faster in the slickness as he moved to strike his next target.

The sun began to peak over the horizon as he butchered his way to the front. Blood welded up in the small shallow cuts he had received, but he pushed on. Further in, he saw Connor doing the dance of death, Haytham at his back, leaving no room to strike either man from behind. If he had not known any better, he would say they actually liked each other.

A soldier came at his side, and was easily deflected. It was too close of quarters to use the muskets for anything but slashing weapons and clubs. If they were to try and shoot one of them, they would end up shooting one of their fellow soldiers.

"Altair!" Connor had finally spotted him, and he made his way to the two men. "We need to flee!"

"Well that would be the wise choice, but seeing that they have numbers on their side, we need a plan to do that." Avoiding a blow from the stock of a musket, he ducked and threw a knife into the man's chest. "Any ideas?"

Haytham bashed two soldiers with the musket he held, then turned it in his hands and rammed the bayonet into another's gut. "If you have any ideas, we are open to them at this time." He held the gun above his head and used it to deflect a bash from one of the other men.

Altair rolled out of the way of a sword, feeling the moisture begin to soak through the thick cloth. He was now thankful he was not wearing the white robes because there would be no saving them after this fight. _There may not be any saving these_, he thought as he heard the fabric rip from where the man caught just the edge of tail that hung from the back of the jacket.

Then the world seemed to go in slow motion and for once he could not dodge the attack that was to come. The knife embedded itself into the muscle of his right leg, causing him to cry out in pain, but thrusting upward with the hidden blade. It entered under the man's chin, killing him once it hit the brain.

Leaving the knife in the wound, he knew he stood a better chance of getting away with it there then pulling it out and bleed to death. Haytham lifted him from the mixture of dirt, melted snow and now blood. "Do you have any more smoke bombs?"

Through the pain, Altair nodded. "In my pouch."

Grabbing them quickly, the older man threw one into the crowd, disorientating the men, giving them a window to escape. Haytham had his arm thrown over his shoulder and Connor grabbed the other, pulling him along.

Every few feet, he would throw one until they reached the edge of the camp and the end of the smoke bombs.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor watched Altair's head begin to droop from the loss of blood. His left shoulder had not fared well in the waylay, and he felt the warm blood run down the hole that was just shy of his collar bone. It had been a hairs breath away from ending his life if the man's aim had not been off.

Haytham looked over at him from the other side of the Syrian. Blood ran down his face from the cut just below his right eye, and the wound on his forehead. He, too, had taken a musket ball, but it had done no more than grazed his side.

The dagger still stuck out of Altair's leg, threatening to end his life if they did not get it cleaned and stitched right away. Giving the man a small shake, his head snapped up, but his color was pale, lips beginning to become ashen. He had lost a lot of blood in the battle.

"Stay with me, Altair." He spoke to the man as his head began to drop once more.

"I am still breathing, so I am not dead." He mumbled. He was not doing as well has he was putting on he was.

Dragging him was hard work, but between the two men, they got him to the other assassins, who rushed to relieve them of the weight they bore. Jamie and Duncan carried him to the inn. It was too far to get him to the manor, so they used the floor as a make shift work area.

Stephane, Clipper and Dobby kept watch as Duncan and Jacob held Altair down while Jamie pulled the knife from his leg. The man cried out in pain, and then promptly passed out.

"He will recover, but not quickly enough." Jamie began to clean the wound from the things that were brought to him from Dr. White's tent. "He will be out of the fight for a few weeks at best."

Once the stitches were done, he moved onto Connor, who was worse than Haytham by far. Removing his jacket and his undershirt, their makeshift doctor set to work on removing the projectile from his flesh, cleaning the wound, and inserting a few stitches to close the wound properly.

The sun was set at midmorning before they were patched up and the tally of the dead had been found out. All in all they had not a bad job. They had taken down thirty seven of the men that morning, and the others had run for their lives. McCain had slipped out sometime in his and Haytham's movements through the camp.

Altair woke up and they now were all gathered around the fireplace, something cooking in the big kettle. His stomach rumbled from the lack of food, and whatever it was smelled really good. Stephane stirred the pot and looked around the room. "Who would like to start?" His heavy French accent carried through the room.

"The men have fled and there is no sign of McCain. From one of the men we found and got to talk, he took off before you two even showed up last night. It seems he took off for New York once a letter came." Dobby lifted her head off of one of the tables, her eyes slowly blinking.

They were all tired and had not slept well in the last few days. Connor rubbed the sore area on his shoulder, the flesh tender. "I will need help from all of you in the weeks to come."

All of the faces in the room turned to him. He took in a breath, held it for a moment, and then released it. "Clipper, can you light the fires at the mouth of the inlet? It will signal the _Aquila_ that it is safe to return. I will also need two of you to stay and help patrol the grounds." Dobby and Duncan held up a hand to volunteer. He inclined his head; a small smile graced his lips. "Thank you. Now the rest, I need you to find Lee and McCain. They are the last ones left and I would now consider the most dangerous. McCain has no regard for life and you have seen that. Lee sits behind and pulls the strings. We must find them at all costs."

Altair nodded his head, giving him a knowing smile. He was finally becoming a leader. Haytham cleared his throat. "And what of me? What do you need of me?"

Connor met his eye. "I need everything you know on both men. They want you dead as much as all of us here."

"And you will have it." He nodded his head.

He was expecting a fight, not for him to agree so quickly. "You are actually willing to help now?"

Shrugging, Haytham looked at his son. "They are out to kill me as well. I believe it is time to take them out. Permanently."

"Then we will need to figure out a plan." He then looked at Altair's leg. "And we will need some time."

**Hello everyone! First of all, love the reviews and second, thanks to all the people who have become followers. I am running on lack of sleep, so uh yeah. I have been staring at this screen for a few minutes now, and I am going to bed. See ya!**

_*Sassiersphinx*_


	11. Chapter 11

He awoke to darkness. The room was as black as the darkest night. No light filtered in from anywhere, but he could hear the sounds of his boots hitting the floor. Altair tried to see with his other vision, but that too failed him. He was blind to all around.

"Hello?" He called into the darkness, but the only thing that greeted his ears was the echo of his own voice.

Was this a dream? A nightmare? Or something far more sinister? He could not tell.

"Where am I?" He yelled out, not thinking he would get a response, but he took a step back when he heard someone else.

"Someone else is in here?" Another voice called back. Male and from the sounds, not too old. The accent was familiar, but he could not place it. "Where are you?"

"I do not know. I cannot see through the darkness." Altair closed his eyes, and tried to listen for any indication as to where the other man was.

There was a chuckle, but it was not male. "Altair, you are failing me. Connor has not completed what he needs to do. You have only two years left."

"Altair?" The other man called. "What the hell has that psycho bitch done this time?"

"You are not in this choice, Desmond. You have made yours." Juno voice snapped at the other man.

"Yeah, with you guiding my hand." Desmond growled, and it echoed off the chamber walls, bouncing around in the darkness.

Desmond? "Who is Desmond?" He asked taking a step forward once more.

"You need not concern yourself with him. He is also helping me. From another time." He could tell she was smiling and he could picture in his mind the same smile she had given him before. The one that made his blood run cold.

"Yeah, she is a manipulative bitch." Desmond yelled from somewhere to his right.

Altair turned his head to look in the direction the voice had come from, but still could see nothing. "What do you want, Juno?" Names held power. Now that he knew who was using him, he could ask about her when he awoke.

"To save the world. To bring peace to all that lives in it, but I cannot do that without your help." And ever so slowly, she appeared to him. "You must help me. You must help Connor."

He growled in frustration. "I know not what you want me to do. I have been helping and yet you say it is not enough. You want to bring peace to the world, but how are to you do that when you are but one person? Are you a god, or just merely a phantom to haunt my being until I am driven mad?"

All he wanted was some answers. Hell, all he really wanted was to wake up in his own bed, and everything be the way it once was. To be back in Masyaf. To be home, but he had a feeling she was not going to let him go quite so easily.

"You were the first to learn from the Apple. The Piece of Eden as you call it. You know what it can do to a man's mind, but it is far more than that. It is a key to the vault. In time, that key will be lost and another found." She motioned around her and the darkness retreated to show ruins all around, but something at the end of the large room shone and shimmered, like sun on a lake.

He walked towards it, and as did the other man, Desmond, he believed that was who he was. They both stopped at the shimmering wall. "You must help Connor find the key so Desmond may save the world." She spoke behind them.

Altair looked at Desmond, who looked at him. The man was no older than himself when he became Grandmaster of the Order of Assassins. "Are you Desmond?"

He nodded. "And you are Altair." He smirked. "Never thought I would see you here. Well, maybe at one time, but I thought I was over seeing you everywhere I was. At least Ezio isn't here. That would make things really messed up." He looked around the room. "Wonder what's behind that?" He thumbed at the shimmering wall in front of them.

That caused him to take a step away from the young man. He was talking like a lunatic. Like one of the men that professed to talking to the spirits and would follow people around screaming about the end of times. "Juno, what is it you really want?"

"For you to awaken."

He shot straight up, sweat pouring from his brow, breath coming in gasps, and hands shaking. The wound in his leg ached like he had overtaxed the muscles, and he absent mindedly rubbed the tender flesh. Was that just a dream, or had she taken him to another place once more? He could not piece it together, but he had a feeling it was Juno's doing.

The things that he saw began to fade form his mind as he rose from the bed. He grabbed his shirt, slipping it on, and walking the darken hallway to the small library that lay just down the stairs. He knew which stairs creaked and so hoping to avoid waking anyone else, he stepped over them. It was not hard because there was only three, but it pulled at the healing skin on his leg and he grunted, trying to contain the pain that he felt from over extending it.

Once he was down on the ground floor, he followed the wall with his hand, finding the doorway with ease. It was not that large of a room, but books lined the shelves and he hoped that one of them would hold the knowledge that he was seeking.

The name in itself was familiar to him, but not so familiar that he could remember on his own. So quickly lighting the fire in the hearth, he watched the room brightened enough that he could scan the titles of the books. Nothing stood out until he grabbed the spine of a book of Roman gods and goddesses. Then everything began to click into place in his head.

The lessons he had about different religions came back to him once more. How the Romans and Greeks had worships the same deities. How they called them different names, but each deity had some different personality traits from their counterparts. He had been fascinated with the different types of religion there were and had been since his mother, from what his father had told him, was a Christian believer and his father had been Muslim.

Opening the book, he scanned the pages and found what he was looking for.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Haytham found Altair asleep in the library the next morning, books on different subjects opened on every surface, and light snores coming from the sleeping man.

Deciding to be an ass, he walked over in front of him. "Wake up." He kicked the other man's foot.

Altair woke up with a start, books falling off his lap. "What?" He growled at the ex-Templar as he came out of the chair, rubbing the gritty sleep from his amber eyes.

"I thought you should wake up. It is half past morning, and you are lounging about with the books. It was beginning to look like you are a scholar and not an assassin." He mused as he picked up one of the books that had fallen from the Syrian's lap. "Roman deities?"

Snatching it from his hand, Altair closed it and walked to the shelf, placing it back in its place with care. "Some light reading, nothing more."

Haytham looked at the other books with a shake of his head. "This is not light reading. You are trying to figure out something. No one would pull out all these books if you were not trying to find something."

"A riddle to dream." The man was being evasive, and it was quite annoying.

"I think you are looking for more than that." The older man grabbed a book from shelf that he knew, and tossed it to Altair. "This may clear a few things up."

He caught it with ease and ran his calloused fingers over the slightly raised assassin symbol on the cover. "What it this?"

"The memoirs of Ezio Auditore da Firenze, the Grandmaster from Italy some two hundred years ago. He was the one that opened the assassins up to the precursors and their 'visions'. I found it an interesting read and that was how I found out about who you were." He headed for the door. "Be careful though. It does contain some of your life in its pages."

"How did you know I was looking for something like this?" Altair asked, still holding the book.

"By your selection of reads last night. Some of the precursors were named after Roman deities. Or the Deities were named for them. I am not quite sure on that." And with that being said, he took himself from the room without a backwards look, and out the back door for some fresh air. It was too nice of a day to stay on the inside of the manor. Taking to the path, he enjoyed the sun that poured through the foliage and shone on the ground, warming the day.

He spied Stephane as he walked towards the village. The man had very little love for Haytham, but was devoted to his son, so he would forgive him for the lack of manners and courtesy one should display when at someone else's home.

"Stephane." He inclined his head with a blank face as he past.

"Haytham." He growled and watched him with a guarded look.

Connor had told them that he was not to be guarded any longer. Some accepted it, but not all. He had more than proved in the last skirmish that he was not the enemy any longer, but a few of the assassins thought it was nothing more than a ploy from him to gain the favor of his son. They had been quite vocal about their opinion.

Surprisingly, Altair had been the one to get into the others faces and call them out. He and the Syrian were not friends by any stretch of the imagination, but he said that if Connor was willing to give him a change, he would as well. Of course he also added, with a menacing look, that if Haytham did anything to betray that trust, he would kill him without remorse. That was the Altair he knew.

After walking around for at least an hour, he entered the tavern and was greeted by Corrine. She was friendly sort of woman, and always had a smile on her plump face. "Welcome back Haytham. The normal?" She called from over by the bar.

"Of course ma'am." He gave a small smile and took his customary seat near the window.

She was the first in the Homestead that greeted him by name, but she knew him before here. He was a frequent customer of their old inn. Oliver, her husband, and her had always been kind to anyone that entered their establishment.

Corrine sat the mug of ale on the table in front of him, and a plate of food. "Since I know you cannot cook for yourself." She gave him a knowing look.

Chuckling a bit, he could not help but nod. "And you would be correct. If it was not for inns such as yours, I would have surly wasted away before now."

After a few pleasantries and such, she walked off to check on the other patrons. He sat in relative peace, until a book landed on the table in front of him. "I need more than this." Altair pulled up a chair and frowned.

Haytham took a drink from his mug. "And what do you wish to know?"

"What do you know about the precursors? Ezio called them gods, but they have also been called the Ones That Came Before. Who are they?" He asked.

"Well, this is most interesting. You are coming to me for information that you need. I thought you would have killed me before asking me for help." He smirked, but before he knew it, Altair grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, pulled him slightly over the table and within inches of his pissed off face.

"Answer my questions, Haytham or so help me, you will not like the outcome." The ancient growled at him.

Detangling himself from the man's grip, he straightened his collar, and sat back in his chair. "I was only jesting with you, Altair. Must you take everything so literally?"

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I apologize. I just need answers."

"I will answer what I can, but I do not know much." He looked at Altair. "Ask your questions." If he was asking him for help on a puzzle then it really must be bugging him to no end. If the Syrian was willing to stick his neck out for him with the other assassins, he should extend the same courtesy in answering his questions with no hesitation.

"There is a woman in these visions I have been having. Her name, I have just recently found out, is Juno. What do you know of her?" He asked as he took a tentative sip of the ale Corrine had brought him, and made a slight face.

He dove into the memories of the things he learned. "She was one of the precursors. One of the last, if I remember correctly. I do not know much of them, but there were three. Minerva, Juno, and a male. I cannot recall his name. They have a site here in the colonies, but there is not a way to open it."

"Take me there." He looked up quickly.

"That is something you must take up with Connor. His people have guarded the site for years." Finishing his ale, he stood. "Take a walk with me?"

The other man nodded and stood, grabbing the cane that he was currently using for support. The knife had done more damage to his leg than he would let on. It would be months until he was back in fighting condition.

Stepping outside, they walked down the path and towards the manor on the hill. "They say the precursors made weapons that controlled the people around them. Making them do what they were told."

Altair nodded. "That must be the Apple they are talking about. I have seen what it can do to a man's mind. It turns them into whatever the wielder wants them to be, and do what they want. It can also do more than that."

Haytham looked at him sideways. He had heard the stories and read the tales, but to hear about it from one that witnessed it was something different. "I have heard the tales, but what you are not telling me is what you need this information for? You are not the type to be chasing tales and old gods."

Altair stopped short, and looked down at the ground. "I come to you because I need help in finding out why this woman, spirit, whatever she is that has brought me here. The only thing I know of her is her name is Juno, and is tied to the things that have happened to myself, and why Connor has become what he is today. She was the one that gave him the vision of the symbol of the assassins. He is hunting for the key that Charles now has. That you gave to him."

All of this for vengeance and that key no one knows what it goes to? "The site was not what I thought it was. There is no way into the inner sanctum. I have missed something in my research of the place."

They were deep in discussion that they did not see nor hear Connor approach. "This is quite the interesting sight. You two are actually talking and no weapons have been brought out. Have I dropped into a dream?"

Altair held up a hand. "I wanted information on a few things. He was the one with the answers."

"And you did not ask me if I had the answers?" He looked from Altair to Haytham.

"Do you know about the precursors?" Connor raised a brow in question to what was just asked of him. Haytham exhaled. "Then you do not have the answers he needs. I, on the other hand, have done extensive study of the culture and I have some answers, but not all."

The Mohawk was silent for a moment. He must have caught on to what they were talking about. "You are talking about the spirit that guided me to Achilles, right?" They nodded. "She has come to me in visions."

That last piece caused Altair's brow to shoot nearly into his hairline. "What has she said to you?"

Connor shrugged. "Nothing of importance. It is always the same. I must find the key or something will happen."

Haytham and Altair both looked at each other. "Connor, I must go to the precursor site. I must see this place with my own eyes."

"But we must fine Lee and McCain. They are priority." He countered.

Haytham reached for his son's shoulder, but the boy backed away, out of reach. "Your men are looking for you, yes?" He nodded once. "Then let them look. This will only take a maximum of three days. One to get there, one to explore and one to get back." He also wanted to go back there with Altair to find out what the man could figure out.

When Connor hung his head, Haytham knew they had him. "Fine. We will go to the site, but then we will come straight back here."

Altair actually smiled. "Then let us be on our way."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

After packing a few things, Altair turned to look at Kara, who sat on the bed holding her doll. "Are you going to be good while we are gone?" He asked her.

She shook her head no. "I wanna go." She pouted, her bottom lip stuck out.

"No little one, not this time." He walked over to her and picked her up. "You have to stay here."

"No, I want to go." Kara crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at him.

He chuckled and walked from the room, heading downstairs. "That does not work on me, child. I have been dealing with young novices for far too long. Pouting does not work."

"You're mean." Grabbing the sides of his face, she turned his head and stared into his eyes. "I want to go." She spoke each word slowly, and clearly.

"And I said no." He glared back at her, but not in a mean way. It was the same song and dance with the two of them. She would pout trying to get her way, and he would tell her no. Sometimes he would cave and allow her what she wanted, but most of the time, she was denied.

He walked out the front door with her around his neck. The wound bothered him, but it was tolerable at the moment. Connor raised his head up from his job of tried to get a saddle on a rather stubborn horse. "I thought she was not coming?" He asked as he sat the saddle on the horse's back, and quickly tightened the girth.

"She's not." He replied and came to a stop near the horse.

"Oh let the child come. There is no harm in letting her ride this time. It's not like we are going to be riding into danger or fighting off an army. We are going to visit an old cavern. It is relatively safe for a child of her age. Besides, she needs to get out of the village every once in a while." Haytham walked over and held out his hands. Kara squirmed in Altair's embrace to be released. He sat her down and she ran to Haytham.

Her favorite person was the one that let her get away with whatever she wanted that day. Apparently, that was the older man. "And I believe it was you who said she needs to stay where it is safe." Connor smirked at his father.

"I believe she is safer with the three of us than here. So shall we ride, are we going to stand around and gossip like women all day?" He strolled over to a horse, and placed Kara in the saddle, then climbed up behind her.

Altair saw Connor shake his head, and climb into the saddle of his own horse, leaving Swift for him. He followed behind the two men as they set off for the cavern that may hold some answers, or give him more questions than he previously had.

**I had to bring Desmond into this. The scene is supposed to take place before he and the others got there. Juno is really a manipulative bitch. I have been trying to get this done all day. Once I get an idea in my head, I try to get it out before I lose it. Well, here it is and I will warn you now, I will not be posting any chapters for a few days. I have my brother-in-law's high school graduation party tomorrow morning and another at seven. They are both an hour from my house. I will find time to write on Monday, but do not hold me to that. **

**Side note: Haytham knows more about the precursors because of his alignment with the Templars. They have more info on them than the assassins. That was why Altair went to him about that. Also, I kind of have been patterning Kara after my own three year old. She likes to call you mean if she does not get her way. They are so cute at that age. **

_*Sassiersphinx*_


	12. Chapter 12

His fist connected with the cave wall as he let out a growl of frustration. Nothing was there. Nothing that would give him the answers that he was seeking, and so the trip had been in vain. There was nothing there but old cave drawings, and an indent in the wall that looked to be just big enough for the Apple of Eden. Unfortunately, that was still back in his time, and he was far removed from that place.

Altair cursed out loud in Arabic, a habit he had tried to control when he was angry or upset. Connor and Haytham, who had accompanied him into the cave, gave him the same raised brow, and in that time frame, he knew there was no denying that they were father and son.

"Would you like to clue us in on your temper tantrum?" Haytham leaned against the wall, looking around the cave.

"There is nothing here. No answers, just nothing." He shook his head in frustration, and had to resist the urge to pummel the wall with his fist. Oh, it would make him feel better now, but he knew his fist would not do well after it was over.

The Syrian assassin saw the older man roll his eyes. "I told you that before you came here, but you insisted on coming. Next time, listen to me when I speak, it will save you some time, and frustration in the end."

"And there are times I am still wondering how I have not run you through yet." Altair took a step towards him, eyes narrowed, but Haytham picked up Kara, and held her on his hip. "Classy Haytham, using a child as a shield."

The Templar smirked and poked the child lightly in the nose, getting her to squeal in delight. "I am not using her is a shield, Altair. I merely just picked her up so she would not get harmed in this cave."

_You keep telling yourself that_, Altair growled in his head. He knew the man cared for the child's safety, as did the other two men, but he was using Kara as a shield from the assassin's rage.

Connor, who had become the peacekeeper between the other two men, kicked a small rock across the cavern floor. "If this place does not hold the answers you seek, then we should be heading back to the Homestead. Hopefully one of the others has news for us." Turning on his heels, he headed into the sunlight, followed closely by Haytham and then an aggravated Altair.

Their horses grazed nearby and lifted their heads when their riders' scents wavered past their delicate noses. Altair let out a sharp whistle and Swift was at his side in seconds. She nuzzled his shoulder, asking for treats that she knew he always carried.

Pulling an apple from the saddlebag, he was about to hand it to the horse when Kara pulled at the front of his robes. "You want to give it to her?" He asked, letting a small smile pass his lips. She nodded eagerly, and he picked her up, feeling the pain his leg flare up from the extra weight he placed on it. "Mind your fingers. Keep your hand flat."

Swift gently took the apple from the child's outstretched hand, and Kara giggled when the horse nudged her cheek. "Pretty horsy." She ran a hand over the horse's velvet nose.

Connor cleared his throat, and Altair brought his attention to the younger assassin. "Shall we?" He asked as he mounted his own horse.

Merely nodding, he sat Kara in the high saddle and with a small amount of difficulty, he climbed in behind her. Haytham had already mounted and held the reins of his roan. Gathering the reins, he clicked his tongue and the horse followed the other two men.

"What are you to do if we arrive back at the manor and someone as sent word on a possible location for Lee and McCain?" Altair asked as he came abreast of Connor's speckled gelding.

The younger man looked down at the pommel of the saddle he sat on. "I will have to go see if they are there, or if it is another wild goose chase."

They had a few leads on the two men, but every time it had been false or they had already left. They did not stay in one place for more than a few days to a week at most. Both men knew they had the assassins on their tail, and now they were just trying to hide until the winter fully broke so they could board a ship to England and escape them for now. That was not going to happen. For Altair to go home, he had to help Connor get the key that Lee now cared.

"And if they are there? What will you do then?" He questioned.

"Kill them." Connor ground his teeth and turned his brown eyes on the Syrian. "Why are you asking?"

"To see if you have let go of that rage that you have in you. I see now that you have not. That is going to cause you to do something foolish." Altair just shook his head slowly.

Haytham had been quiet during the whole questioning. He cleared his throat and the two assassins looked at him. "If I may butt into this lovely conversation. Son, I believe, and I cannot believe I am about to say this, the ancient corpse to your left is correct." That earned a glare and few unflattering words in Arabic from Altair. "You are twisted up in your hate and rage against Charles that you will get yourself killed."

"And what would you have me do,_ Father_?" He sneered the last word and Altair sensed there was about to be a fight. "Let them escape and let them live? I cannot do that."

Haytham sat tall in the saddle and kept his eyes forward, ignoring Connor's hostility. "Nothing of the sort. I want you to kill them. They deserve death after what they tried to do to the people in your community, but your approach is speaking from rage. It will do you now good if you go in there pissed and they shoot you. Where would that get you? Six feet down in a hole, if they decide to be so kind. Most likely they would dump your body in the frontier for the animals to feast on."

Altair looked down at the child in front of him. She had picked up in Connor's anger and was trying to get over to him. "You should stay where you are, little one."

"Connor." She called to him and held out her hands.

The larger man reached over effortlessly and lifted her over to his saddle. She tilted her head back at an impossible angle and gave him a large toothy grin, which he could not help but return.

The remainder of the ride was done in relative silence. Altair reflected on the dream and what he could remember of it. It was still a mystery, on who this Desmond man was, but he had read the memoirs of Ezio Auditore, and the name was mentioned in there as well. Another pawn for the ancients to move around at their will or was he something else entirely to them?

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

They arrived back at the manor in the dead of night, and Connor carried the sleeping child up to her bed. Once she was under the covers, he came back down to see his father and Altair having a heated debate in French. He knew nothing of the language, other the few curse words he had picked up from Stephane when the man would go off on a tangent about something that pissed him off.

"What are you two arguing about now?" He rubbed his sore temple and felt a headache coming haunt him. The two men always did that to him when they were not seeing eye to eye. Unfortunately, he had become the peacekeeper to them and that was getting tiresome. Could they not go a few hours without making a snide comment about the other?"

"It is nothing. Haytham merely thought that he should accompany you on your next trek out to find Lee, and I believe he should stay here." Altair leaned against the back of a chair.

His father looked at the ancient assassin with a blank expression. "I am trying to get this man to understand that I am no longer the enemy and I am trying to help. But he will hear none of it."

Hearing enough of their squabbling, he groaned. "Grow up, both of you. I am tired of playing the adult to the both of you. Altair," his eyes met the older man's amber orbs, "you yourself vouched for him in front of the others. Why are you fighting with him now?"

Casting his gaze onto Haytham's proper stance, he sighed. "I still do not trust him fully. I know he will not harm the villagers here, but I question his motives when it for him to leave with just you."

"And should we not have reason to question you motives as well? You are an assassin that was brought forward from the past. That in itself is a bit strange. For all I know, you could have studied the life of Altair Ibn-La'Ahad and using that identity to get your hands on something." Haytham raised his brow.

That caused the Syrian to explode. "I am who I say I am. Who are you to question it, Templar?" He took a menacing step towards the older man.

Stepping in the middle of them, mainly to stop the, but he felt the overwhelming urge to punch both of them in their faces. "I have had enough of your squabbling and bickering with each other. I have no plans of taking either of you with me when I leave." He shot a glare at the man he called friend. "You cannot fight at this time. You would be nothing more than a liability to me if you were to go." Then he turned on his father. "And as for you. Lee and McCain want you dead along with the rest of us. They will not hesitate to turn you into a corpse along with me. I did not go through all the trouble to keep you alive just for one of them to place a lead ball into your head."

Haytham snorted. "I can damn well take care of myself, son. I have been doing it for far longer than you have been alive, but not longer than him." Pointing a thumb at Altair, who picked the cane up off the table, and Connor could see the Syrian cracking the thick wood across Haytham's face.

"Altair, don't." He warned. "And would you quit goading him into violence? One day you are going to push too far and you will find him standing over your bed with a knife."

Altair snickered. "I have already done that."

Connor's jaw fell and gave the man an incredulous look. He then turned to look at his father, and Haytham just nodded. "He has. Honestly, it scared me out of my wits. Of all nights, he had to pick one that there was storm raging outside."

Throwing his hands into the air, he stormed out of the room. "Grow up!" He yelled over his shoulder.

Slamming the door to the study, he heard his father's amused voice. "So, I take it you would not like to join me for a spot of tea before bed?"

Oh he could tell the man where he could shove that tea, but he refrained and just simply laid his head down on the mahogany desk in front of him. Living with the two men for this long, there were times that a firing squad brought a small smile to his tanned face.

"You really should muzzle both of them."

Connor jumped at the voice and fell out of the chair onto his ass. Clipper sat over on the couch trying in vain to control the laughter that threatened burst from his lips. "I am in no mood for jokes, Clipper. What are you doing in my study?"

He cleared his throat, but the smile was still on his face. "I am sorry, Connor, but all of the beds are taken. I just needed a few hours to rest my eyes. We did not think you would be returning until the following day. Jacob has brought word that McCain was spotted in a remote fort deep in the Frontier and Lee was seen in New York."

Picking himself up off the floor, he looked at the man that was maybe a bit older than him. "How long ago was he seen?"

Standing, he popped him back. "Jacob just delivered the letter tonight, and he rode straight through. A few days at best it would seem."

Thinking to himself, he knew the Aquila would be the quickest way to enter New York. The problem was the fort he was talking about was over near Valley Forge, the opposite direction of New York. "Damn it all." He sighed and sat heavily into the chair. "I cannot be in two places at once."

"Me and the others are at your disposal." He met his eye.

"So you are." He felt the pain behind his eyes and knew that is was only going to get worse. "I am going to head to bed. I will figure this out in the morning. Between my father and Altair's fighting, and now this news, I just want to crawl into a bed and hide for a time." He was feeling overtaxed and pulled in too many directions.

He nodded. "I guess I will just stay here and wait on you then. Goodnight Connor."

Standing, he shook his head, and watched his black hair fall into his eyes. "Goodnight Clipper." And dragged himself up to his room. Gathering the strength, he pulled his boots off, his overcoat, and fell into bed.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Lee paced the small room he had taken up residence in. With the assassin Connor, and now Haytham, tracking him, he knew it was only a matter of time before he was caught. Then he would never see the dream of the Templar Order come to fruitation in the colonies.

McCain was safely tucked away and out of danger, since he was surrounded by his men, and heavy artillery. It would take sheer luck to get past all of that. Luck and a large army. The man was planning another run on taking the Homestead, but Lee knew it would be pointless. There was nothing there to bother with and once Connor was dead, and their protector gone, the people would leave the land.

A knock on the door made him stop the endless pacing he had been doing. "Enter." Straightening his jacket, the door opened to a barmaid bringing him his nightly meal. She smiled politely and sat the tray on the small table in the corner. "Have a goodnight, sir." And she left the room, closing the door behind her.

He could smell the delicious aroma of the stew from his place across the room. He stomach rumbled from the lack of food he had been putting into his already thin frame. The constant moving and hiding was wearing him down, and his nerves were on end every time he walked out the door. Even when he had gotten on Braddock's bad side for a time, he did not feel fear like he was experiencing at this time.

Pulling out the chair, he sat door and inhaled the smell, and felt his lips twitch in slight smile. How good it felt to sit at a table and eat food like a civilized gentleman once more, instead of eating cold, salted meats in a saddle while hiding on the back trails of the blasted frontier.

He spooned a hearty portion into his mouth and nearly wept with joy at the warm spreading from his tongue to his gut. Enjoying the sensation that was now nearly foreign to him, he spooned more of the stew into himself and damn near licked the bowl clean.

Once his dinner was finished, and his belly full for once, he decided it would be a fine time to go to sleep. He knew he would be moving once more in few days, so he would take the opportunity to sleep the best he could.

**Hey all you people out there in internetland, it's me once more. I cannot believe it has been damn near a week since I wrote anything. I just haven't had the time. Between watching my friend's daughters two days a week and working on my house, I am lucky if I have time to breathe. But big smiles! I am having fun with the summer. **

_*Sassiersphinx*_


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey ho! My week is getting brighter and brighter! That's in a good way and not how it normally goes. First, I have to say there has been a new addition to my huge family! My nephew was born Sunday morning! Ya! I now have two nieces and four nephews. Plus, I ended up rescuing the cutest dog on the face of the planet. He's a miniature Siberian Husky and my kids have, get this, named him Connor! No lie, they chose. He's solid white with brown eyes. (Yes, two of my kids play Assassin's Creed. They are ten and eleven) So, I got a nephew and a dog all in one day! It has been eventful weekend at my house to say the least. Anyway, on with the story!**

"That little twit left!"

Altair looked up from his chair in the dining room when he heard Haytham's voice from upstairs. He gently closed the book he had been reading since early morning, and listened to the man's heavy footfalls on the wooden stairs. Barging into the room, he glanced at the man giving him a bored expression. "What has you up in arms this morning, Haytham?"

"That rotten underhanded son of mine. He left already." He huffed and sat heavily down in one of the chairs, glaring at the floor.

Clicking his tongue, Altair took a sip of the honeyed tea he had made. "I know. He left as the sun came up over the horizon. Set out for New York to chase that lead on Lee."

Haytham's head shot up. "You knew?" He nodded. "And you did not care to wake anyone else up to reveal this plan?"

Shrugging, Altair stood and stretched out the stiff muscles in his leg. "It was not my place to report his comings and goings. I am not his mother, nor am I his nursemaid. He is a grown man, and he wants to chase ghosts then let him do so."

"Do you not care what befalls him? I thought he was your friend?" Haytham shot to his feet, getting ready to knock the assassin off his.

Said assassin held up his hand. "You may calm your temper, Haytham. I know where he has run off to, and when he will be arriving. He has taken to land and if he is hard on his horse, he will arrive in a two day time. But this is Ratonhnhake:ton. He would never beat his horse just to save some time. I know of a quicker route for us to get to New York before he does."

That stopped the Templar in his tracks. "You are willing to help me go after him?"

"No, you are going to help me. I will not allow him to do this on his own. That would be suicide. You know Lee better than all of us and you know that he will not hesitate to kill him if he is cornered or fears for his life. Your son does like to stand out when he is mad about something." Beckoning Haytham to follow, Altair led him down to the basement where all of his equipment was stored.

"And how do you plan to get to New York before Connor? Some magic that you have not told me about?" He began to arm himself, and Altair followed in suit.

Pulling the small chest down from the top shelf, he opened it to reveal his hidden blade and bracer. "No magic, but with his ship, the _Aquila_. He had left her in the inlet. I will talk to Robert about taking us. If it is to protect Ratonhnhake:ton, he will take us there."

Sliding one of the swords into the scabbard, Haytham looked over his shoulder at Altair. "Have you had this planned for a while now?"

Altair shook his head; a small smiled tugging at the corners of his lips as he tightened the last leather cord that held the bracer to his left forearm. He flicked the blade in and out a few times, and nodded that is was working properly. "Nothing of that sort. Since this morning when I saw him exit the house and head for the stables." Once that task was completed, he faced Haytham with the normal scowl. "We may be working together now, but do not think I will hesitate to lay open you throat and watch you bleed out into the streets if you so much as try to double cross me, Haytham. I have killed for far less."

Rolling his eyes, Haytham checked his blades as Altair finished with his equipment. "Yes, yes, I know how you are, you short tempered ass. I know you will kill me without feeling remorse for the life you have taken. You have said it all before. Now, are we ready to leave?"

"Momentarily. I must grab one more thing." He reached over and plucked a pistol from the rack and slid it between his robes and leather belt. "I will not use it unless I have to, but I have come to see that they play a far greater part in this time than I would want to admit."

Looking from the pistol to the ancient's face, Altair watched Haytham's frown deepen. "Do you even know how to us that?"

He nodded his head once. "Ratonhnhake:ton has shown me the dynamics of firing the weapon. I have become proficient with it." He was always a fast learner, and that was how he earned the rank of Master before all others in his group. He had been the youngest man in Masyaf history to earn it so young. That and he was only good at one thing, and that was death.

"Then I would like to see that." The Templar smirked.

"No you would not, because I am liable to use it on you. Then that will be the last thing you see." Turning on his heels, Altair marched back up the stairs.

Haytham followed behind. "And what of Kara?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Prudence took her an hour ago when I began to plan. It was the logical choice and Kara loves to play with Hunter."

As they approached the front door, Haytham had to finally ask. "Why is it you refer to Connor as the name his mother gave him?"

"Ratonhnhake:ton?" The older man nodded. "That is his name, correct? Should you not refer to a man by his given name and not one he took to blend into society? Merely because I am not of your time and culture does not mean I am not educated in the ways of addressing people. Here, I call him Ratonhnhake:ton out of respect for him and his culture, but around others, I address him as Connor. It is as simple as that."

They exited the house and walked down towards the dock. Neither man said a word to the other on the short walk, and when they arrived at the dock, Altair walked down the wooden planks. Seeing Robert standing by the gangplank of the _Aquila_ checking a few crates, Altair raised a hand to the first mate and the man did the same in acknowledgement. Once they were near, Robert grinned. "Well aren't you two getting along now. Last time I saw the two of you together, I believe you," pointing at Altair, "were ready to dump him off the side of a cliff and you are were still a prisoner."

Haytham spoke before Altair could. "Yes well, as you can see, I am no longer a prisoner," Looking back at the Syrian, "although if you ask him, I still need a guard."

"Look we need passage to New York to stop Connor from doing something completely insane that will either lead to him getting shot or worse, killed." Altair met Robert's eye. "Will you take us there?"

Bending his head down, Robert rubbed his forehead. "Want to explain that one to me? I know he does a few crazy things, and I have called him a mad bastard on occasions, but I think you need to talk before I stick my neck out here."

And so Altair told him what they knew and what Connor had planned. Once that was completed, the first mate slowly shook his head from side to side. "That fool boy as run off once more into complete danger with no regards for himself?" Haytham nodded, and a smile crossed Robert's face. "Well, I can have her sailing in an hour. Gather the crew and get ready to sail. If we are to make it to the city before he does, we best get moving."

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

It was halfway past the next morning when they sailed into the harbor of New York. Haytham walked off the ship and took in a deep breath. It had been a few months since he had last set foot onto these cobblestones and smelled the street venders selling their wares. Even the revolting rotting fish stench did not bother him as it had at one time. He was just happy to have paving stones underfoot and not dirt or grass.

"Do not get comfortable here, Haytham. Connor will be showing up soon, and I would like to give him news before he shows up and does something foolish." Altair stepped around him and began to walk down the street, hood firmly pulled over his head.

Walking up to his right side, he looked at the assassin. "You know, your robes do not blend in. I do not understand why you and my son are hell bend on wearing them."

"Because that is who we are. The robes, at least for me, are what I am used to and even though they have changed since my time, it is what I am comfortable with." Even though the man did not move his head, he knew from his own training that Altair watched everyone and everything at all times. He was the same way. Well, most of the time.

Snorting, he pulled his tri horned hat down a bit farther over his face. "You and you damn ideals. You know they died with the assassins of old."

"They did not die; they were just misused in ways that twisted them. Do you even know the three tenets of the Creed, Haytham? You said your father was an assassin. He would have taught them to you first before you even started your training. They are the foundation our order was built on. They are what keep us from just being mercenaries." The ancient looked at him from inside the deep cowl.

That got Haytham to stop. The only thing he could remember from Edward was him saying 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted'. That still boggled him to this day. What did that even mean? "I do not recall him saying anything about three tenets."

It was Altair's turn to snort as he moved to the left to allow a few people to move between them. "Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. Always be discrete, and never compromise the Brotherhood. That is what was taught to us as we trained. I, at one time, took those tenets and threw them into the face of the Brotherhood. That was why I was casted back down to the rank of novice. I broke every rule on one mission and that cost my friend his arm and his little brother."

He knew of the incident that the man spoke of. Almost everyone had heard of the story at one time or another. Altair had been what all assassins strove to become. He was good at what he did, but his arrogance was bigger than himself. It nearly cost him everything, including his life. Al Mualim, the Grandmaster at the time, was a Templar as well. It was the first time the Order had a traitor so high up in their ranks. Actually, the Templars told the story as well. Altair and Al Mualim was the reason they lost the Crusades. If the old man had not decided to take power for himself, and had not sent the master assassin after the other ruling Templars, they would still hold the Holy Land.

"Surly you do not believe that three rules are all that stand between your order and being mercenaries? That is lunacy." Haytham shook his head and stepped over the legs of a drunken bastard that was passed out against the side of a building.

"I do, and I believe, so does Connor. He believes in what the Order once was. He holds those ideals in his heart. Have you once seen him take the life of an innocent?" Altair stepped into an alley and Haytham stayed with him.

"No."

"Have you once seen him, besides in a rather heated mood, expose himself when he should not?" Haytham could not help but shake his head. "And have you seen him expose the Brotherhood?" Sadly the man was right.

"No I have not, but that does not mean anything. Right now he is coming here for the express reason to kill Charles. He is hell bent on doing that." Haytham counted, but he knew it was weak. Altair had him and there was no denying that.

The man smirked. "You can try and argue your side all you would like, but you know I am right."

"I think sometimes you can read minds, Altair. It is quite scary." Haytham looked around as they exited the alley and onto the main street once more. They were near the heart of the city. "I know where we are. Charles has a few places he would hide out if he was being hunted."

Pulling a piece of paper from the inner pocket from his robe, the assassin handed it to Haytham. "Do you know where this place is? I could not find it on the map, so I figured Connor did not know rightly where it was as well. He has every tavern marked."

He studied the name of the place, and he was familiar with it. It was one of those places where Charles would not normally frequent, but if you had an assassin dogging your every move, he would try a place that he is not known for going to.

"It is towards the edge of the city, damn near where the fire ripped through. It was by God's blessing that the place did not burn as well." He slipped the paper into his own pocket, and Altair did not say a word. "Would you like me to lead the way now?"

Altair merely nodded, and they began to walk again. Clearing his throat, Haytham turned his attention to Altair once more. "I have been to Damascus before."

That got the Syrian's attention. "You have? How has the city fared from my time until now?"

He closed his eyes and he could almost feel the heat of the sun. The way the sand blew across the way, and how some of the towers seemed to stretch to almost touch the sky. "I would say it was nearly the same, but with some growth. Connor said you were impressed by the size of Boston, but I know you have been to larger, grander cities."

Chuckling lightly, the assassin nodded. "That is true. I did not think he would have believed me at the time. I have been to all the cities in the Holy Land, and to the island of Cyprus. Those are all ancient cities. May I ask why you were in Damascus?"

"To rescue my sister Jenny from slavery." He kept it short and to the point. It was not something he widely told, if to anyone. Why he told this man, he could not say, but he had.

"I can understand that." The conversation stopped as they approached their intended area.

Haytham grabbed Altair by the shoulder and pulled him into the nearest alley. "There are guards everywhere. Charles has to still be here."

The two men poked their heads around the corner, and from the sixth sense he had, he could see the red that radiated off many of the men that walked the streets. Some were in uniform, while few others were dressed as regular citizens.

"Do you think he is still inside?" Altair asked as he looked at the men as well.

Haytham saw the golden sheen of his eyes and knew that the man could use the same sense he could. Was it an assassin trait? He had always thought it was just in his family, because his father had it as well, as does Connor. But that would be a question for another time. "I could not say for certain. I would assume so if there are this many men walking around."

"Either that, or they are waiting here because they hope to ambush Connor when he arrives." Altair leaned back against the wall. "I would like your suggestion on how we should proceed. If a plan is not formed, I believe we will be killed."

Looking back out at the street, and quickly taking a head count, he could see at least seven men in uniform and nine in normal clothes. "There are far too many for us to fight and not get injured. I would say we just keep an eye on the place and see if Charles does make a move. If he is here, he will."

For once, the assassin with him agreed. "A fair plan, although I am not the best at waiting."

"So I have heard. From the stories that are told, that is." He smiled. Altair arched a brow, but did not comment. "Shall we take to the roof? We would have a better vantage point from there and we can see the comings and goings of this lovely establishment."

Nodding once more, they took to the roof to wait out the long day.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

McCain glanced around at the reports that littered the small desk in his room. They were from the loses of life at the disastrous raid on that assassin Homestead, to the whereabouts of the assassins that roamed free. One in particular caught his eye and he picked it up. Charles had sent him a letter stating that he was preparing to leave the colonies and head to the open waters. The man was a fool for running. If he was to come here and wait it out, they would have no problems. His men were trained by the best and could stop anyone.

The disaster at the Homestead was nothing more than an ambush tactic and much luck on the assassin's side. It would have turned out differently if they had attacked in the night, but he had decided to march in the early evening. That was his undoing.

A soft knock on the door made him raise his head. "Enter."

A young recruit, just barely old enough to join the army, entered the room, a letter held in his hands. "A report for you, sir."

"Do you know where it came from, son?" He looked the boy up and down. He was far too skinny for McCain's liking, but they always needed men for the front line. Boys that could take the enemies shots while the real men slaughtered the idiots who would oppose him.

"No sir. I was told to bring this to you straight away, and that is what I did." He bowed his head.

Taking the letter, he nodded. "Very well. Be gone and back to your post." The boy ran out the door, pulling it behind him.

He heard it latch and took a seat in the old leather chair. Examining the small wax seal, he could tell it was from one of his scouting parties. Reiter's party was stationed down near Concord.

Breaking the seal, he scanned the letter and grinned. It would seem the assassin was on the move. Last seen a fortnight ago, passing through the small community, heading towards New York. Pouring a glass of scotch, he smiled. _So the savage was still after Charles_, he mused. _Well, he will have a hell of a time getting to him_. Downing the glass in one fluid motion, he slammed the cup on the small table as the amber liquid burned all the way down to his gut.

**So, a few things going on in this chapter. Haytham and Altair working together, Connor has taken off on his own, and McCain is planning something. Connor will come back in the next chapter, I can assure you that. Since I have not said it in a while, thank you for all of the reviews, the followers, and the favs. You guys and gals are the best! **


	14. Chapter 14

**I just got my computer back from the shop. Ended up getting a virus and it killed everything. I can thank my kids for that. I just spent the better part of last night fixing my music collection and putting iTunes back on my computer. Now that I have that done, I can finish this chapter. Onward!**

Connor slid from the overused saddle onto the worn cobblestones just inside of New York. Thinking that if he rode all the way into town, he would be spotted in no time, he took to staying on the outskirts until he could locate the place that the letter had told him Lee had been spotted just a few days previous. He knew this may be a wild goose chase, being as slippery as Lee was; he knew he had to move quickly to find the man before he was able to leave the colonies for good.

As if that would stop the assassin. Connor had it in his head that if Lee left, he would as well. He had a ship that could carry him across the sea if need be, but he wanted to end this here and now. Too many people were counting on him to end the life of this man. If Lee was allowed to live, then the ideals of the Templars could spread. But that thought stopped him in his tracks. If Lee was to die, there would still be one more Templar in the colonies, his father.

He shoved that thought out of his head. Living with the man for a few months now had let him see Haytham in a different light. The man was stubborn to a fault, as was he and Altair, but he was also a caring person. When he wanted to be, that was. Could he put his father to the blade? He shook that thought away. He could not dwell on that at this time. He had a task in front of him.

"You look like you just lost your best friend, Connor."

He turned his head slightly to see Dobby leaned up against a wall, a small smirk on her small face. "Just thinking too much." He replied, and walked over to her.

"Then stop thinking." She pushed herself off the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. "I take it you got the message." He nodded his dark head. "Then walk with me."

He followed her towards the burnt out section of town. "Where is this tavern at, by the way? It is not one I know of."

She chuckled. "It's a small one. Not widely known, but the Templars used to use it somewhat before the fire. It's not one we would go to. The food is decent, but that is about it. I only know of it because of my time as a courier." They turned a corner, and headed down another small side street. "I was surprised to see you ride into town since the Aquila is docked in the harbor."

Connor's steps fumbled and he nearly fell on his face. "What was that?"

"The Aquila. It has been docked in the harbor since yesterday. I thought you were aboard." She stopped and looked at him. "You had no idea?"

He shook his head, but he had a feeling on who was behind his ship being there, and he was none too thrilled. "When I get my hands on those two, I…I…" Words failed him as his ire increased the more he thought about Haytham and Altair being in the city together. He had no clue what havoc would follow if the two of them were to start their squabbling.

Dobby knew on to whom he was referring to. "If they have been in the city since yesterday, I do not think they have caused any trouble as of yet. I would have heard about it, and so would have Jamie and Jacob. I would say head to your ship and see what they know and I will look around town for the two. They must be here to keep an eye on you. At least they know you can cause a lot of trouble by yourself."

"And they can cause more trouble with just the two of them. They have a tendency to fight with each other, a lot." Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. "I will head to Aquila. Meet me there if you have any news."

She nodded, smiled, and laid a gentle hand on his upper arm. "Go easy on them, Connor. They must have a good reason for doing what they have done."

He looked down at her, and felt something stir deep within him, but before it could fester, he pushed it back down from winch it came. Now was not the time for feeling. Now was the time to be to a close of everything he had been working towards for so many years. "I will try, but I make no promises."

She took off, swift as a fox, leaving him in the street. He let out a sigh. He just wanted to come and check out this lead, not have to yell at a bunch of people and track down two men that should have left well enough alone. Then that little voice inside of his head, and the strange thing was it sounded like Achilles, telling him that they were trying help, and to stop trying to be the one man army.

Ignoring the little annoying voice, he made his way past the soldiers that milled in the streets and the dock workers unloading freight and cargo from the vessels that just made it into harbor. The Aquila wasn't hard to spot. She sat at the dock, and Robert stood looking over the books.

"Mr. Faulkner." He growled menacingly.

Robert turned his head, and grinned sheepishly. "Captain, good to see you. Fancy meeting you here."

"I could say the same thing. What are you doing in New York, and I want no lies." His eyes narrowed and he watched the older man's Adam's apple bob in the front of his throat.

He chuckled nervously. "Well, I thought you might need a quick escape?" He formed it as a question, trying to cover the real reason he was there.

Connor was not buying it, because the only reason the man and the ship would be here was to ferry Altair and Haytham to here. "You are a terrible liar, Mr. Faulkner. Where are my father and Altair? I know you brought them here yesterday."

Robert's shoulders slumped and he looked at his captain, who was none too thrilled. "Oh Connor, have a heart. They were worried that you would get yourself in over your head and would not be able to get out of it. They came here to give you some back up."

"I need no backup and I want to know where the two of them are now, if you please." He was about to lose the small amount of composure he had left.

Sighing loudly, the first mate shook his head. "You are a tough nut, boy. They are in your cabin planning something."

"Thank you." As calmly as he could, he walked onto the ship and the men gave him a wide berth. They knew that he was pissed to no end, and they were right.

Once he approached, he heard the distinct sound out Altair's Arabic accent flow from the cabin. "He will not like this turn of events, Haytham. I know he will not."

"Too bad, because we are about to get into a lot of trouble." That was his father.

Planting a boot near the handle, the door flew open and both men were sitting on the window seat, a drink in hand. "You are right. I am not happy about you two commandeering my vessel, and having them bring you here when I believe I said I would not need your assistance."

Altair watched him with those strange amber orbs of his, calm as you please. "I believe I owe you some money, Haytham. His entrance was better than I thought it would be." He pulled a few coin from his pocket and laid them in the other man's outstretched hand.

"Why thank you. I know you are a man of your word." Haytham smiled and slipped the coin into his own pocket. He then addressed Connor. "Are you done with the tantrum, son, because we have some information that you will find most helpful if you are to go after Charles and his cousin."

Shutting the door the best he could, he took one of the chairs from the table. "You had better talk fast and it had better be good. I am done playing games and you two are about to get it."

Standing, Altair grabbed a map of New York and one of the Frontier. "Lee is held up in a tavern not far from here." He pointed in out on the map. "The problem is he is surrounded by McCain's men. Haytham got close enough to find out that they are going to be moving in the next few hours."

That had Connor's attention. "And where will he be moved to?" He looked at his father for that.

"That is something I could not hear. The best we can believe is they will be heading to the fort McCain has commandeered for his own personal use. That would be the best choice, but not always the smartest." Haytham leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. "If they are in the same place, it would combine their forces and make them nearly untouchable to you, I or Altair."

"I am not seeing how that would not be smart." Connor scowled and leaned back in the chair. His anger was cooling, but not fast enough. He still wanted to skin the two men in front of him alive, but refrained for now.

"He was getting to that, boy. Refrain from biting the hand that is feeding you information. If you keep it up, I will have your men keep you here, and we will take care of Lee and McCain." Altair's eyes were mere slits of darken amber. His hand rested on the hilt of the short sword running across his back.

Glaring back, he met the other man's eye, showing him that he was not afraid. "Proceed."

His father smiled and nodded. "As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted. If they were be at the fort together, you could kill two preverbal birds with one stone. If you had a way in, that is."

Connor was starting to see what they were getting at. "Who would be used as bait?"

"Myself. They want all of us, but I am the worst of the lot in their eyes. They believe I betrayed the Templars, and I have completely sided with you." Haytham leaned back and looked around the room. "What they do not know is I have not given you any secrets. All I have told you is how to find these two men."

Altair rolled up the map of New York, and placed it back into its holder. The one of the Frontier he spread out on the table. Both Haytham and Connor looked over at him. "You have three options at this time. You can either wait until they are together, try to kill Lee here in the city, or you can ambush him on the road to the fort. If you wait, we will have to use Haytham as bait, which I rather like the idea," That earned a scowl from Haytham, but all he did was smirk, "but several things could go wrong and it would be three against who knows. If you try for him here, there is a chance you will get killed, but if you try for him out on the road, it can look like an accident."

He had much to think about. "I would like to see where he is hiding. See for myself how many men are around him. Then I will make my choice."

"Fair enough." Haytham stood and walked towards the door. "Are you coming?"

Connor scrambled out of his chair and followed his father out of the cabin. Altair trailed behind at his own pace, but he knew the ancient assassin would be right behind them.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Looking out over the street, Altair pointed to the window right above the side door. "That is the room Lee has been staying in. He does not leave unless he has to and his meals are brought to him. There is not safe way to go in and out of the place. It is guarded around the clock."

He and Haytham spent the better part of their first day watching the changing of the guards, their positions, and the coming and going of people from the establishment. It was nearly the same men that came and went as if on a schedule, and so with a bit of persuasion in the form of a blade, he was able to get some information, but not one man had all the pieces to the puzzle. He found that out when Haytham did the same and found something different. Each person had a different order, but if put in the right order, it would become clear.

"So, there is no way into the place without being spotted?" Connor asked as his eyes watched the men below.

"I am afraid not." Haytham clasped his son on the shoulder, and earned a glare from the assassin.

Clearing his throat and motioning them to follow, Altair moved to the back edge of the building and used a tree to get to the ground. Connor followed him, but Haytham used the ladder nearby. He stepped to the edge of the alley, but stayed surrounded in shadow.

"You may try to enter, but I doubt you would make it to Lee before you were shot or stabbed. These men will not be persuaded to abandon their posts." Altair shook his head and turned his attention on Connor. "Now that you have seen what we know, you must make a choice. Do you want to make a stand here, or do you want to follow him?"

All eyes were on the younger man. He looked around from the shadows and shook his head. "We must follow. There are too many men here to make sure we stay safe. I must speak to my assassins here. Have them keep watch here."

"A wise choice." Haytham nodded, and Altair stood next to the Templar as the younger assassin took off. "Do you think he will follow through with what he just decided to do, or do you think he is getting the others to storm the place?"

Chuckling, the Syrian leaned up against the building. "Think we should follow him?"

Both men nodded at one time. They may not agree on many things, but when it came to Connor, they knew they had to keep a close eye on him.

**I know this is shorter than I normally write, but the action will come next. Yes, Altair and Haytham are working together. Scary huh? Don't worry, they will still pick on each other and will still bicker. I hope to not have to wait another week between updates. See y'all next chapter!**


	15. Chapter 15

The three men rode nearly side by side through the Frontier. Charles had run that morning and true to his word, Connor went and told his assassins what was going on. Then, after a good chewing out, he sent Faulkner and the Aquila back to the Homestead. Haytham felt a bit bad for getting the first mate into a heap of trouble, but it was for a good cause. If he and Altair had not gone when they had, Connor would have walked right to his death. The boy was too headstrong and was thinking only on vengeance alone. He knew where that got you. Nowhere or a one way ticket to the Grim Reaper.

"What are we to do when we arrive at the fort?" Altair broke the silence that had settled around them.

"We will scout the area and then decide on a course of action." He stated, readjusting in the uncomfortable saddle. He had not ridden this much in many years. Not that he would say he had been spoiled by carriages, but it was far more comfortable than sitting in a saddle for hours on end.

"A fair plan." The Syrian nodded. Ah the man of a few words had returned.

"And do I have a say in this?" Connor glared from one man to the next.

Altair casted a look at the younger man. "If it is logical thinking speaking and not your vengeance, then by all means."

Haytham heard a slight growl come from his son. "I would try to infiltrate the fort from above. I know the one they have run to. I helped liberate it once."

He and Altair both looked at him, wide eyed. "And when did you plan on telling us of this pertinent information?" He asked, not believing what he was hearing.

Connor shrugged, ignoring the looks. "You never asked, so I thought I would let you two assume that I knew nothing of what was going on."

"This is information we could be using at this time. Would you care to share your knowledge?" Altair asked politely, but the undertones to his words were none to pleasant. They were laced with slight venom. The ancient assassin's ire had been raised at the lack of communication.

The younger man rolled his shoulders. "The fort is surrounded by deep woods and tall trees. It would not be hard to use the trees to slip into the fort unnoticed, but getting around the grounds is something completely different. It would be hard to move around without being detected." Connor looked over at Altair. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

If Altair's teeth were to grind any harder, it may scare the animals that lurked in the woods that surrounded them. Haytham was rather enjoying watching the other man trying to keep his cool. His white hood covered the majority of his face, but he knew what it would look like now. That vein, the one that him and Connor could get to come out, was about to pop. He bit back a chuckle. No sense making him any angrier than he was already.

"If we were to get onto the grounds, where would they be?" He had to defuse the situation before someone ended up dead before their time. Namely one of them.

Connor looked ahead for a moment, deep in thought. Then, he turned his brown eyes onto him. "I would say in the center of the fort. That building would be well fortified. I do not see Lee or McCain staying outside when they know we will be hunting them."

Nodding, he looked over at the Syrian, who had his head bend down and staring at the pommel of the saddle. "Would you like to engage in this conversation? You wanted to know what he knew."

"I do not." He growled, but never once looked up. "I am trying to think."

And that was when he knew the other man was well on his way to wanting to kill Connor. Deciding to rub both men at the same time, he smirked. "I believe you have pissed him off, son. I would sleep with one eye open tonight."

Connor just arched a brow, and then shook his head. "You should follow your own advice. If you keep speaking, you are going to be first on his list."

"I have a pistol and a few knives. I will kill you both at the same time to save me the trouble later if both of you do not cease your endless prattle." Altair swiveled his head slowing, his eyes barely visible in the deep cowl, but from what he could see they radiated murder.

The two men fell into silence. _Best not push him more than he has been already_, he thought. _I wish to live another day._

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor looked over the fire at the two men. Altair was leaned against a fallen log, his chin resting against his chest, and his arms crossed. From the rise and fall of his chest, he knew that the older man was asleep, but not deeply. At the lightest call of his name, he would be ready to fight or move.

Haytham, on the other hand, had his hands extended towards the fire, trying to remove the chill from them. He was used the chill of the night. The snow had begun to melt and their camp was relatively free of it, but it still clung to the ground in some areas like patches of white moss.

"Have you given more thought to what you shall do with me once this quest for Charles has been completed?" His father broke the silence.

Resting his arm on his raised knee, he looked at the flames that jumped around the small pit they had dug. "I have not. I don't know what I am going to do yet. You could resume your mantle as Grandmaster of the Templars, and everything I have been working for could have been for nothing."

Haytham chuckled lightly. "Do you really believe that with Charles' death and then with my own, you will stop what will be? The Templars cannot be stopped in their mission."

"Then I will not rest until I have seen that mission has ended." He poked the fire with the small branch that he had next to him and watched a few embers fly into the still night air.

"Then son, you will be fighting until the end of your days." He sighed and sat back a bit, tri-horn hat gone from its normal perch on his graying head.

That was when Connor really saw the years weighing on his father. His once raven locks were now nearly completely gray. His eyes weary from the years that he had seen. "Then I guess I shall, but I cannot give up hope that I will succeed in my mission."

"And you will fail just as others before you have. Ezio Auditore said the same, and he gave up before the end. Others have tried and all have failed." Haytham sighed and shook his head, dislodging a few stay hairs from his tied back hair. "I am not telling you to stop what you are doing, but think about what you want to do, and not what others want you to accomplish."

That was the first time he had ever heard his father tell him to think for himself and not listen to others. "I…I will think on your words." His eyes casted to the ground, at the dirt that lay at his leather clad feet. "I will take the first watch. You should try and rest. We will be there by mid-afternoon."

A slight nod and he watched his father move back until his back was against a small oak. "Very well, but wake one of us if you should feel yourself tire. We do not need Charles' men catching us off guard."

All he could do was nod and watch Haytham slip off into the peaceful slumber of sleep.

As Connor looked at the two men that were helping him on this expedition, he could not help but chuckle at the unconventional alliance that they had formed. Altair, a Third Crusade Grandmaster of the Assassin Brotherhood, born so many years before, brought forward through time by a spirit to help him and his father, Haytham Kenway, the Grandmaster of the colonial Templar Order, the man that he was to kill, but spared his life for questions he had not received the answers to as of yet. It seemed that the world was turned on its head, and he was at the center of the madness.

Standing, he felt the muscles pull from his stationary position for so long. The men slept on and he thought a walk may do him some good. He would not stray far, but the forest had always helped him clear his head, and he had much that weighed on his mind as of late.

The owls called from the notch holes in the tress above his head as he wandered around the forest floor. A few animals, most likely nocturnal raccoons, scurried to and fro, looking for food to forage. The sounds of the night were soothing and calming to him. This is where he grew up, and began his life. He knew the woods, the animals, and every sound.

Then he heard a twig snap. That was no animal, he knew. Grabbing a low hanging branch, he hauled his large frame into the nearest tree with ease and used his other sense, the one that he had heard Altair call 'Eagle Vision' to look around in the darkness.

A blue figure, a friendly, moved through the brush. Moving towards the person via the branches, he was right over them when he let his vision go back to normal. It took a moment for his eyes to refocus in the darkness, but he saw that the person was Altair.

"I thought you were asleep." He called down from the branch directly over the other assassin's head.

Altair did not flinch, just looked up. "And I thought you were to take the first watch." He replied calmly. "Now come down here. You are not a squirrel, nor any other animal that uses the trees as its home."

Exhaling, Connor dropped to the ground, his legs bending once he touched the ground, so his body would absorb the impact. "I am down. You look like you would like to talk."

The Syrian nodded and looked him in the face. He began to walk. "I would like to apologize for my actions earlier. The anger towards you was uncalled for."

The apology made him blink. He had never once heard the other man apologize for anything. "I accept your apology, Altair."

"Thank you. I have been on edge of late and I do not know why." He looked around the small clearing that they had stopped in. "I have been having dreams of home, and I find them both disturbing and alarming, but it also makes me long for it as well."

"I can understand that. I often dream of my village and long to return to my people." He watched a few of the moon's silvery rays shine through the barren trees.

He heard the softest sigh leave Altair. "But you may return when you wish. I, on the other hand, do not know how to return home, or when I will return. I am at a loss of sorts. You have taught me much since my arrival a year ago, and I am grateful for the knowledge, but I am now wondering if I will truly be allowed to return to where I came from once your mission is complete."

Resting his hand on the shoulder of his comrade, he gave it a slight reassuring squeeze. "I believe once this is over, you will be allowed to go back to the family and friends that you have left behind. Maybe you will wake up and all of this that you have done will seem like a strange dream."

Altair, shaking his head slightly, looked at his feet. "Maybe you are right. I may just wake up where I left off and believe it to be the work of the Apple or my busy mind. I do not know, but I should try to stop dwelling on it." His head came up and Connor could slightly make out his facial features. There was a ghost of a smile on his scarred lips. "We should head back to camp before Haytham awakens and finds that we have left him behind, and then gets it into his head that he can run."

He could not help but laugh. "You want to hunt him down, don't you?"

"I have played nice for far too long with him. It would be a change of pace to hunt him like an animal." The older man let out a small laugh. "Of course I could not kill him, but I could give him a beating that he would not soon forget."

There was the Altair he knew. "And here I thought you two had finally put your pasts behind you and formed a bond." He retracted his hand and began to walk back towards their small makeshift campsite.

"It will be a cold day in hell before we are friends, Ratonhnhake:ton, I can assure you of that." He shot him a sideways look, but it was all in good humor. "I will strive not to kill him before his time. Only because he still has his uses."

He had no retort on that last comment. The two men would work together, but they would never completely see eye to eye. It was enough to drive him insane, but that was the way of such things. You could not put a bear and a mountain lion together and tell them to not fight one another. It was not the way nature worked and surly not the way they worked as well.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Altair looked down at the fort below. They had made there just as they said they would. Ratonhnhake:ton had taken to a tree not far from his position, and Haytham, who was not skilled in anyway moving around in the treetops, had taken to watching the guards on the ground. They were to observe movements, and locate the exact place Lee and his cousin were. There could not be any half way here. There were too many variables and too man y men to really do it any other way.

He scanned the open training yard; all the men shone bright red with the Eagle Vision. All enemies that would not hesitate to run them through, or place a musket ball into their bodies. That was what they were trained to do, and that was their orders. He would not hesitate to kill them if that was what was called for him to do.

Nothing else stood out, and so he knew that the two men were inside one of the buildings, hiding from them. Slipping onto another branch, he carefully made his way back to the rendezvous point, and dropped to the ground. Haytham slipped from the underbrush, a few autumn leaves clinging to his coat. Ratonhnhake:ton appeared from the sky last.

"I did not locate them." He looked at the other two men. "Did either of you have any luck?" Both of them shook their heads no. "Then what is our next course of action?"

Haytham rubbed the light stubble that had formed on his face. "Create a diversion, letting us slip in. That is my only thought."

His son shot that down. "Too many men for that to work. There is an unguarded point on the northern wall. If we were to exploit that, we may be able to slip in unnoticed for a time, but we will be eventually seen. The inner courtyard is well guarded."

"Then they are close that area." Altair looked over at the high walls of the fort. "We must proceed carefully if we do not want this place to be our death ground." He did not want his life to end here. He wished to see his homeland once more. To die in the sands that gave him life.

Ratonhnhake:ton nodded. "I agree. I say we watch them for a time more, and then find a time to strike."

"A sound plan." Haytham inclined his head in agreement. "When should we reconvene here?"

"Once the sun begins to set. It will be far easier to slip in with the cover of night." Altair did not wait for a response. He took off, using a fallen tree as a ramp to access the treetops.

**Ugh! I have been writing and rewriting this chapter for a week now. I don't know what it is, but I became stuck. I just hated everything I wrote. Now that I am jacked up on coffee and blueberry Red Bull, I finally got it done. Also, finding the right music. You would think with a thousand or so songs on my computer I could find the right one. I am a music nut. Okay, now I am getting off subject and slap happy. Have fun peeps! See ya!**

_*Sassiersphinx*_


	16. Chapter 16

The wind blew through the trees as Connor looked down at the encampment. Altair had positioned himself nearly opposite of his position, and Haytham was ready to cause the distraction they would need to enter unseen. They had spent the better part of the day on the plan. Looking at it from every angle, every detail was not left to chance. Both men that they hunted would have to die, and both men that were going in had to remain almost unscathed. Haytham had volunteered to play distraction because he could not move in the trees as he nor Altair could. Connor had been surprised when the Syrian took to the trees like he had.

The moon sat high in the sky, the stars shining brightly as he loaded his pistols, making sure that it was ready for the fight ahead. He had hoped to not use them, for they made too much noise, but he would make sure they were on hand should the time come that they were needed.

The call came through the stillness of the air. Altair and Haytham were in position and ready when he was. Calling back out this the whistle, he moved with stealth and grace to his entrance point. It was just ahead, only a few more feet.

The fires started the moment his feet touched the intended branch. Haytham was instructed to light a few small fires, to draw out the men at the gate to investigate. It was a simple plan. Get the men by the gate away so that they could be slaughtered, then when he and the Syrian moved in, the men's focus was on the front of the place and not the rear.

Dropping silently onto one of the guard towers, he swung in, hitting one of the men in the face with his foot, their neck snapped, and his hidden blade found its home in the others chest. They dropped without a sound. Their dead bodies lay at his feet. Leaving nothing to chance, he picked them up and threw the dead men over the side into the dark woods below.

Moving as silently as a wild cat, his movements muffled and the strikes to his enemies swift as he moved towards the center of the encampment, to the building that housed his worse foes. Charles Lee and Marcus McCain sat inside, oblivious as to what was transpiring outside at that time. They would not know until it was too late to save themselves. Too late to change the course of their fates. It brought a ghost of a smile to his face to know this would end tonight.

Two more men fell as he came around the corner, their sightless gaze telling him that their souls had departed their dead hosts. May whoever they worship guide them to the next life and beyond, if that was what awaited them on the other side.

Switching to the Eagle Vision, Connor scanned the area, and saw the blue incased body of Altair as he came over a low wall, snuffing out the red outlined men that stood between the ancient assassin and himself.

The Syrian assassin's breath came out in pants as they stood next to each other behind a small outbuilding that held the ammunition for the fort. The plan was to blow it up and in the ensuing chaos of the men trying to contain the flames, the two of them would slip into the main house and kill the two men that were their targets.

Grabbing a nearby lantern, Altair opened the door, and threw it into the room full of gun powder and musket balls. The explosion would be large and the destruction area, wide, but that was what they were counting on. They wanted to make it as large as possible. Also, when it went off, that would be the signal for Haytham to come in if he so desired.

His father had already said he would not put the blade to Lee, but if he was to try and run, he would stop him, but McCain was another story. Haytham would kill him just to make sure the murderer was gone from this world and could not harm another innocent soul once more.

They barely cleared the blast radius in time as shrapnel flew over their heads as their hands covered the backs of their heads as they lay face first in the dirt. It ripped its way through the closer buildings and men. Screams of the wounded could be heard through the fort as men scrambled with water from the nearby well to quell the raging inferno that threatened to burn down the older wooden fort.

The time had come. It was the end, and Connor's heart hammered in his chest. Lee and McCain would be dead before dawn's first light. He did not care how, but he knew that they would draw last breath here and now. Scrambling to his feet next to Altair, they made their way through the throngs of men, felling them if they got too close to their person, but the men were not completely worried about the assassins. They were more concerned about the burning structures around them.

Altair barreled through one of the doors, landing into a controlled roll as the metal and wood gave way to the force that was the ancient assassin. He was back on his feet in seconds, but what they encountered was not what they were expecting. Lee and McCain stood there, pistols drawn, small smiles on their faces. At least seven other men stood as well, guarding them.

"So, you have come at last, assassins." McCain leveled his pistol at Altair's head, and Lee had his trained on Connor.

"You knew we would come, and yet you stayed." Connor watched the two men, waiting for the chance to take them out once and for all.

Lee nodded. "When you went after me in New York, I knew you would follow me here, or you already knew about this place. I had heard what you had done to the other forts when you 'liberated' them for the rebels. So we surrounded ourselves with men, and just waited for you to show up. It was not that hard. Now that we have you, you will be executed at dawn for your crimes against the Crown and her people."

Altair spat. "Like hell." And launched a throwing dagger into the closest man.

The fight began. He dodged a few swings from a few large brutes, but there were too many to account for. "We must retreat!" He heard himself call.

"I will give you the time to get out of here. You must escape!" Altair yelled and brought his blade across the throat of the closest man, and placed his boot into another man's gut.

"No." He stabbed at the man to his right, feeling the blade enter the tender flesh of his unarmored rib cage. It was not an instant killing blow by any means, but the man dropped from the fight as his hands flew to stave off the blood that now flowed from his body.

But he could not stop the older man from turning, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him out the door. As he rolled away, more men began to block his path to the door, and he knew that there was no way he would be able to get back in there to Altair. Hopefully the assassin could hold off just a bit longer until he could find a way into the building.

That was until he felt the burning sensation of a musket enter in flesh just shy of his vital organs. He hissed in pain, hand flying to cover the wound in his side and while he was disorientated from the shot, a fist collided with his jaw, sending him sprawling onto his backside.

Black dots swam in his vision, as he tried to regain his footing. He tried to get back to his feet, but the pain in his lower abdomen prevented him from getting up fast.

Before he could do anything, a horse and rider came into the fort, a stolen musket blew through the man that stood over him. Haytham rammed the bayonet into the face of another man. "Get on!" His father called out to him.

"What about Altair?" Pulling out the left double flintlock pistol, he shot two more men as he got slowly to his feet once more.

"That man is harder to kill than influenza. He will live through this, but if we do not flee, we will not." Haytham held out his hand, and once Connor laid his hand into the older man's, he felt himself be pulled onto the back of the horse. They took off, shots being fired at their retreating backs.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Altair dodged another blow and rolled to the left. Why could no plan go off the way it was supposed to when Ratonhnhake:ton was involved? He swore the man was a curse upon plans and he would tell the younger assassin that when he saw him next. They would have to work on that, or by Allah, they would all be dead before a ripe old age. He was actually surprised that the boy had survived this long on his own.

_The boy must just be incredibly lucky_, he mused as he deflected another killing blow with his short sword. It was too small of an area for them to be using their side arms, lest they would hit a fellow comrade, or worse, their officers. So they had taken to hunting knives and the bayonets that they would fix to the end of their rifles. They were trying to fight him in a way he had been trained in his whole life. This was where he excelled. This is what he was good at.

Sliding under one man, he brought the blade across the inside of the man's thigh, opening the large vein near the groin. He dropped to the floor, trying in desperation to stop the bleeding that would never happen. That cut would kill him in a matter of a minute to a few, depending on if he managed to get something tied around his leg.

Once he was on his feet, he came face to face with McCain, who landed a solid blow to his face, rupturing his lip, causing him to stagger backwards from the blow.

"You assassins are nothing if not persistent." The man spat and advanced on him.

He let a grin slid over lips, opening the wound farther, but it mattered little. Once the man was in complete strike range, he would kill him. At least he would take down one of them before the end of his time. Maybe if he was to die here, he would wake back up in Masyaf, and be with his family once more. It could happen, but he was not a gambling man. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

"I am more than persistent." He took a step back and lowered his stance. "I am just good at what I do."

And McCain took another step, and from the way his eyes widened, he saw the folly of his move. _Checkmate_, was the only thing that ran through Altair's mind as he launched himself at the soon to be dead man and his blade slid between the ribs, slicing into the heart, and lungs, killing him almost instantly. It brought him little satisfaction to know the man had died swiftly and with little pain. He would have liked to have seen the man suffer just a bit before his soul was judged for his crimes in the afterlife.

Something large and heavy collided with the side of his face as he tried to make it to his feet. Blood ran a river down his temple where the object had sliced through the thin skin on his scalp. The thick, red liquid began to seep into the fabric of his hood, making it stick to the side of his head and he felt bile creep into his throat from the blow.

"Grab him and clap him in irons. I know the others will be back for him. He is the bait we have needed." Altair heard Lee's voice flow into the darkness that encroached onto his peripheral vision. His vision began to tunnel and then another heavy blow to the back of his head let the darkness wash over him completely.

He woke up some time later, legs tied and hands firmly chained behind him. Looking around, he saw that he was not in the fort any longer, but bouncing in the back of a cart of some sort. A few guards sat by him as they glared down at him.

His hood was bunched around his neck and he could feel the dried blood on the side of his face and neck. The wound must have not been severe, but from the shining of the sun through the slit in the canvas, he could tell hours had passed from the time he was knocked unconscious. His bracer was gone that housed his hidden blade, as was his borrowed pistol, belt and short sword. He did not like knowing that he had not a weapon on him, but that did not mean he was defenseless. He was an assassin after all. They were taught to kill silently, even without weapons.

A rather large bump caused him to be thrown off the floor a few inches and he landed rather painfully on his side. A hiss escaped his swollen lips, and one of the men in there with him chuckled. "You are not so tough without all of your weapons, are you?"

Moving slightly to look into the face of the man that taunted him, he let out a small chuckle of his own. "I need no weapons to kill you. I could do it in the state I have currently found myself in. Do not tempt the fates, boy, lest you want to meet your ancestors before your intended time."

A few laughs carried through the other men as they looked at their fellow soldier. "You should not taunt him, Clyde. I have seen what they can do when they are provoked. Let's just say, I have lost a brother and a cousin to one of them."

"A smart man. I am surprised you are a soldier and not a scholar with all the intelligence you possess." Altair smirked and tested the bindings that held him. There was no way he could pick the locks on the chains, but he could possibly slip the bindings from his ankles, since all that held them together was some rope. This was not the first time, nor would it probably be the last, that he was bound in the fashion he was currently in.

It took the man a moment to figure out that the Syrian had insulted him. "Hey." He glared down at Altair, who still wore the smirk he had become famous for. Well that and the scowl he wore a majority of the time in his life. "Do you wish for me to end your life?"

"Then you shall end your own. I do not believe your superior would have taken me alive just for you to end it here because of an insult on your severe lack of intelligence." He made sure to keep the man angry. If the other men were focused on making sure that the one man did not kill him, he could possibly escape the bindings without them knowing.

He moved his ankles, feeling a slight slack in the ropes. The knots were not overly tight, which he was now thankful for. The movements in his legs were kept small as to not draw attention to what he was doing. The rope began to loosen and he could feel his ankles beginning to gain more freedom.

_One more barb on the man should give me the time I need to finish this_, he thought as he looked at each of the men. Singling out the one that he had already traded barbs with, he looked up at the man, a smile on his face. "So tell me, since you have already lost family members to my kind, what luck do you possess that will make you any different?"

"You are tied up and bound. I see no harm coming from you." He smirked. "I also know that you are here and…" The words were cut short as his eyes widened and blood ran out the corner of his mouth. He slumped over, falling to the floor, a dagger sticking out of back.

The cart jerked to a spot, and he could hear shots being fired. "The convoy is under attack! Protect the prisoner." Someone from the outside yelled and the remaining two men were on their feet, and jumping out into the bright sunshine.

Altair worked in fever to get the bindings from his legs. This was his chance to get away. He had to get back to the Homestead.

The rope fell loose and he kicked it away. The chains on his hands were a different story though. He had no key, but it would not be hard to get them in front of him. Sliding them under his rear, then down his legs, he pulled his feet through the chain, and looked at them. He would have to check the men once they were dead for the key.

Moving to the rear, he pulled the flap back enough to see his guards taking aim at a man who approached. Leaping from the cart, he wrapped the chain around one of their necks, cutting off the precious supply of oxygen to the body. He pulled tighter, listening to the gurgling coming from him, and the body going slack. He was not sure if he had passed out, or was dead, but he knew how to make sure. Once the man lay on the ground, he grabbed the sides of the head, gave a twist, listening to the snap of the spinal column as it broke, making sure the man would not rise once more.

Footsteps behind him alerted him to danger, and he was on his feet in a second, fist coming around, but was caught by someone. "If we keep meeting like this, I am going to start believing you actually want to kill me."

Altair looked into the face of the man that was in front of him now. "Haytham, I do want you dead, but unfortunately, I have not found a way to make it look like an accident. So your life has been spared up to this moment in time." He pulled his hand back. "But that could all change depending on my mood. And your chances are not looking up."

Before he could react, the older man pulled out a pistol, and shot it over his shoulder. Altair turned to see the other guard lying in the mud, a clean hole through his forehead. "I believe you now owe me a life, Altair." That brought a smile to Haytham's face.

"We shall see about that." He grumbled and held out his wrists. "Get me out of these and then we will talk."

Walking over to one of the guards, Haytham plucked the key from their waist, came back over and unlocked the chains that bound his hands. As they fell away, Altair rubbed his wrists. "You did not take this caravan alone. Where is your son?"

Haytham shrugged and threw the keys to the side. "I have not a clue. He took off on me in the middle of the night. I came in search of you and ran into a few of Connor's assassins, who ironically, were looking for him and you as well. It seems you and my son have become popular today."

That was something he never thought he would hear. The assassins that were working for Ratonhnhake:ton had paired up with Haytham to rescue him. "Then it would seem I am in your debt for the time being. Where are they? And where is Lee?"

Stephane walked over, pulling another man behind him. Throwing him at their feet, the man looked like he was about to pass out from shear fright. "This man says he has information on the whereabouts of Lee." The Frenchman smiled and held his knife out at the man. "If you do not want to lose your tongue, or your life, I would advise you to begin talking."

"Mister Lee was on his way back to New York to catch his boat to England. He bought passage a few nights before his move to the fort. The man that was with you last night gave chase a few hours ago. That is all I know. Please, do not kill me. I have a family that I have been trying to feed. A few young children. I only took this post because of the money."

Altair knelt down. "You have one chance to run. Run and never look back. Do you understand?" The man, whose eyes were wide with fright, nodded swiftly. "Go before I change my mind."

Like he had been fired from a cannon, the man took off. Haytham raised the other pistol that he had, but Altair laid a hand on it. "You will not kill him. His life has been spared for a reason. He will spread the word that we are not people to be trifled with."

Shaking his head, Haytham put it away none the less. "I do not understand you sometimes, Altair."

"And you never will." He looked around at the carnage. "I believe we must be heading to New York before that boy of yours ends up dead, or the city has been completely destroyed. Trouble seems to follow him like a bad wind."

**I'm back into the swing of things in this story. This chapter was a blast to write. Much death and carnage. I am going to be starting weekly updates from here on out. Friday or Saturday will be my new post days. If I get the chapter done early, then I will post it then. Thank you all for the great reviews. I have a new story going as well, if you haven't seen it yet. It's called Heaven Only Knows. It features Desmond and Ezio. I will be updating them on the same day. Thanks again to everyone. **

_*Sassiersphinx*_


	17. Chapter 17

Haytham surveyed the damage to the shipyard and dock. There had been a battle here, and a rather large one at that. He knew Connor had been involved, but no one had seen the boy since he took off an hour before. The assassins had been scouring the area, asking people and trying to find clues as to where he and Charles had taken off to.

Altair, in fresh robes and his trademark scowl, walked up to his left side. "Have they located anything yet?"

The older man shook his head. "Nothing so far. Damn that boy. If he would have waited, I am sure you would have helped him in this endeavor. I could not because I owe much to Charles; Connor knew that from the beginning." He hung his head and let out a breath. "I guess he was cursed with the Kenway hardhead. Not a one of us listens worth a damn."

The assassin snorted. "Did you just figure that one out all by yourself? And you have not dropped over dead because your meager brain melted from the strain? I am impressed."

Haytham shot the man a dark look. "You tread on thin ice, Altair. Remember, you owe me a life."

The blade on Altair's left wrist slid out and he held it up. "How about I take yours and we call it even? Actually, that would not be fair. Yours would only be worth a half of a life. I think I would have to find a way to bring you back from the dead and kill you again just to make it even."

Haytham's blades came out and he squared off with the assassin. "You are trying my last nerve, assassin. Keep it up and I care not that I will change history. I will run you through here and now, and let your corpse rot in the street."

Both men faced each other; each had a look of absolute loathing for the other, ready to run the other through, until Dobby landed between them. "Put them away gentlemen. He has been spotted."

That was enough for Haytham to stand down. "Where has he headed?"

She held up her hand. "I do not answer to you, Kenway. I was told if Connor was not here, I am to give my report to Altair only, and that is what I plan to do."

Altair smirked at him, which caused him to seethe and gnash his teeth on the inside. "Speak then, Deborah."

"It's Dobby, and you know that. And as for Connor, he hopped a ferry after Lee down river. You should be able to catch him if you go on horseback. They took off an hour ago." She turned her full attention onto the ancient Grandmaster.

"Thank you. Tell the others to help quell the fear here and to put out the fires. No sense the whole city burn for Connor not liking to ask for help." Altair addressed her. She nodded and took off. "As for you, come with me."

Taking off after Altair, they reached their mounts in no time at all. The streets were not that crowded because everyone was afraid to be out of their homes with the explosions that had happened and the burning of the shipyard.

"Follow me. I know where that ferry lets off at." Haytham took the lead and they rode hard.

As they approached the small town, their horses were foaming at the mouth from exhaustion. Finding the nearest troth, they hitched the horses and he noted rather large drops of blood on the ground.

"One, if not both, are hurt. Rather badly from the amount that I am seeing." Altair knelt down and looked at the blood path. "They headed towards the tavern."

Both took off in a run. When they saw the tavern, they also saw the bloody handprint on the door's edge. _That is not a good sign_, Haytham thought to himself as they entered the establishment.

The man behind the bar looked like he had seen a ghost. Altair walked up to him. "Have you seen two men, both may be injured. One of them would be dressed similar to me, but in white."

He nodded quickly. "He left not ten minutes ago. The other man, well…" He thumbed towards the small room off the side.

Walking back there, Haytham sighed. There lay Charles, slumped over the table, blood pooling at his feet. "Well, at least we know how the confrontation ended. Connor is alive and must be heading back to the Homestead."

Altair stopped at the table. "This is not all Lee's blood, Haytham. Much of this is Connor's. He had been wounded rather badly from the looks of it. We must find him before he bleeds out."

Looking over the scene, he saw what the Syrian had seen. The chair that was occupied by his son was covered in blood and there was a blood trail to and from the door. Cold dread ran through his veins as he thought of losing the son he had created with his beloved Ziio. "Then there is not a moment to lose."

On their way out, Altair threw some money on the bar, telling the man it was for his silence and the removal of blood, body and anything else that needed to be replaced. The man nodded and they were off once more. Getting two fresh horses from the stable, they rode towards the Homestead, until they heard the cry of a horse.

Diverting off the path that they were on, they followed the sound of the screams and came across a scene that they never wanted to see. Connor was on his side, the ground trying in vain to soak up the blood that was coming from the man. The horse was trying to protect him from a wolf that had wandered in from the smell of blood.

Haytham pulled out his pistol, took aim, and put the animal down in a single shot to the side. Once the animal dropped, Altair tried to calm the injured horse while he took care of his son. Rolling him over, he nearly was sick at the wound that festered in Connor's abdomen. It was closer to the side, but he could see splinters of wood lodged in the flesh around the hole.

"Altair, we must get him to Dr. White right away. He is breathing, but he had lost much blood." Haytham looked up at the Syrian for just a moment, then to the pale face of his only son.

"Will you be able to hold him upright in the saddle?" Altair asked as he tied Connor's horse to the pommel of his own saddle. Haytham nodded. "Good, then I will help you get him up there. He is not the lightest person."

And so both men managed to get Connor into the saddle. Haytham held him to his chest ignoring the blood that seeped into his own clothing. "You will be following?" He asked.

Altair nodded. "Ride swift. I will be right behind." He pulled his hand back and smacked the horse on the rump and jumped back as the horse rocketed forward, leaving the other man standing there.

*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor began to come back to the land of the living slowly. Then the pain hit him hard. He cried out and tried to bolt out of the bed, but strong arms held him down.

"Be calm, Ratonhnhake:ton. You are safe now."

He heard the voice, but it was so garbled to his own ears that he only knew it by the name that they called him. "Altair?" He asked cracking his eye open.

The older man came into his slight vision. "You are an idiot, Novice." Altair gave him a lopsided grin. Then he stood straight and huffed. "Now I understand why Malik calls me that when I do something insane just like you have done. The difference is I know my limits. If we had not found you, you would have died and been food for the animals that make the woods their home."

"Than…Thank you." He managed to get out, lying back on the bed.

"Do not thank me. It was your father that carried you back here for the good doctor to patch you back together." He stepped away. "I believe you are being protected by something that we cannot see nor comprehend. A lesser man would have perished where you have lived." He shook his head slowly. "I believe your mother was correct when she named you. 'Life that is scratched' is fitting, but it seems that you have overcome that."

Connor raised his head slightly to watch him. "How did you know what it means? I have never told you."

"Your clan mother. I have been in contact with her as you healed. She has come a few times to check on your progress." He answered as he gathered some bandages from the nearby table. "She is about to move your clan. It had become too dangerous for them to stay. She said they are moving west soon."

They were leaving? How long has he been asleep for? "How long have I been asleep for?" He asked as Altair took a seat next to the bed and removed the cover down to his waist.

"A week and a half. You have woken up a few times, but this is the first time you have actually spoken to anyone." He carefully removed the bandage from around the wound, and began to clean it.

He could smell the sickly odor of infected flesh in the air. "How bad is it?" He dare not look. He had seen it when he pulled the large section of wood from his body.

"Infection set in just a day after you got back here. Everyone thought you would be lost to it, but here you are, still alive. The worse has passed from what Dr. White has said. You will recover, but it will take time." Altair carefully added new padding to the wound and wrapped it back up. "I need to go tell him that you have awakened."

Grabbing the other man's arm, he nodded. "Thank you for everything."

"You are welcome. At least they granted me enough time to see you get well and tell you goodbye." Altair laid a hand on top of his.

"What are you talking about?" He was confused now.

"My mission was to make sure you saw yours through to the end. That has been completed and I have already begun to drift. I woke up for a time in Masyaf just yesterday. It was not long, but I could feel the dry desert air on my skin. I do not think I will be here much longer with you." He turned away. "I will be home soon."

Words failed him, just as they always did. The man that he looked up to, and had become his true friend would be leaving soon, and there was not a way to stop it. He knew that this day would come, but he did not think it would come so soon.

"Do not look like that. We both knew that this was only temporary. I have come to think of you as a brother and a friend. As much as it pains me to return, I know that I must. For things to stay the way they are, I must go back to my own time." He stood and headed for the door. "I will return." And just like that, he walked out of the door, leaving him with his thoughts.

He did not know how long he lay there, under the covers and staring at the ceiling, but a knock on the wooden frame brought him back to the present. Dr. White stood there, a smile on his face. "I see Altair did not lie. You have returned to us."

Connor could not help but return the smile. "And I guess I have you to thank for that."

The doctor came in, and took a seat next to the bed. "Now, I believe we are even." That got a small chuckle out of him. "Your color is returning, which is a good sign. I will have Diana bring you some broth to drink. Nothing too heavy at first. If that goes down well, and stays down, we will move you to oatmeal and something with more substance tomorrow."

"Thank you Doctor." He nodded slowly. At least he knew he would recover.

Patting his bare shoulder, Dr. White smiled again. "It was my pleasure. Be safe, son." And after looking at the wound, he rewrapped it, and left the room.

A few minutes later, another knock on the doorframe made him turn his head. Haytham stood there this time, a cup of tea in his hands. "Thought you might like something warm to drink seeing that no one has offered you anything to drink as of yet."

His throat was dry, and so he nodded. His father walked, sat the cup down and helped him into a slight sitting position. After taking a sip of the cooling liquid, he began to feel better. "Thank you for the tea."

"I believe that was the first time I have ever heard you say that to me in the few months that we have been speaking." Haytham smirked.

Connor shot one back at him. "This was the first thing you did to warrant me saying the words. Besides carrying me back here. Thank you for that as well."

The older man inclined his head. "I could not let you die out there. We may not be on best terms with each other, but you are still my son."

He took another sip of the tea. "Altair told me that he will be leaving soon."

"So it would seem. He has been drifting between his time and ours for the past few days. The last time was yesterday. He was there for nearly an hour. He will not admit it, but it has affected him deeply. He has been spending time with your clan mother, talking to her." Haytham shook his gray head. "I believe the next time will be for good."

"It seems that even you are going to miss him." He tried to cover his sadness at the thought with a barb towards his father.

"The man may be a pain in the backside, but he is worthy of respect." Leaning forward, his father sighed. "Look, do not trouble yourself with the trivial things, son. You just need to worry about getting back on your feet. I will leave you to your rest."

He did not respond, just merely watched Haytham walk out the door. Sleep began to call him once more and carefully sliding down into the bed, he winced as he moved wrong, but settled comfortably in, and then a thought hit him before he dozed off. Haytham had spiked the tea to make him sleep.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Altair stood on the side balcony of the manor, watching the stars come out in the velvet sky. He knew tonight was the night. It was not as he thought it would be. The three times he had returned, he had been no more than a ghostly specter in his own fortress, but the last time he could feel everything he touched. He knew this would be the last night he spent in this place, in this time. He was overjoyed about going home, but sad in the same thought.

He had come to respect the people that called this wilderness their home, and had begun to call them friends. To know that he would return to his life was comforting, but to know everything he was leaving behind was bittersweet.

Altair hung his head and let out a large sigh. He knew it had to be like this. It had to come to an end.

"He is back asleep, Altair."

Turning his head, he looked at Haytham walk out. "I thank you for what you did."

The man nodded once. "I know. You did not have the guts to face him yourself."

For once the man was right. "I will not argue on that one. He has become too much of a friend for me to burden him with that. When he wakes up, I will be back in my own world, in my own bed. Time will move on just as it always has." And he would ride on the tides as he had always done. He stood straight and held out his hand. "Goodbye Haytham. We may not have always seen eye to eye, but at least you have your head out of your ass now."

Haytham clasped his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Goodbye Altair. May you get shot by an archer and fall from a roof, but live through it." He smirked. "I had to get at least one last jab at you before you vanished beyond where you can hear me."

"And may your son beat you into the ground for being just an unbearable ass." And he returned the smirk with one of his own.

Releasing his hand, Haytham left him to his thoughts once more. When he heard the door close, he walked into his room, and took a look around. Kara slept peacefully on the small bed they had for her in the corner. Kneeling beside her, he laid a light kiss on her forehead. "Be at peace, little one. May you grow to do great things."

Taking himself to his own bed, he blew out the candle; the only light was that of the coals burning in the fireplace. His eyes drifted shut, and as he drifted off to sleep, he felt a single tear leave his eye, make a track across the bridge of his nose, and splash onto the pillow below his head.

**The conclusion to Unconventional Alliance will come in the next chapter. Thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed liked and followed me from the beginning to the end. All of you are awesome.**

_*Sassiersphinx* _


	18. Chapter 18

The first thing that alerted Altair that he was back was breathing in the dry, summer air of the desert. The second was how warm he was. His eyes opened and he looked at the sea of paper on his desk, and the Codex in front of him. He remembered. He had fallen asleep at his desk. Carefully, he sat up and looked around. He was home, and this time, he was whole.

Bringing his fingers up to his face, he moved them around and saw nothing but flesh and his leather fingerless gloves. Looking down at his robes, they were the same ones he had left in. So, had it all been a dream? Had his work with the Apple created a new world for his mind to wander in? Gently pulling back the layers of fabric, he made enough room to slip a hand into the neck of the robe to touch bare flesh and then he felt it. The small puckered scar where the lead ball entered his shoulder when he first arrived.

So his mind had not deceived him. He was really there, but he had been brought back to the same time he had left. No time had passed, yet five hundred years lay between him and the time he had just came from. His heart grew heavy thinking about all the people he had called friend, and family he had just left with a closing of his eyes.

"You are still down here, Novice? I would have assumed you would have wrapped up your writing and gone to join your woman in your room."

He turned his head to see Malik walk up, book tucked under his one arm. He shook his head. "I think I will head there now. I must have dozed off."

Malik raised a brow. "Why are you talking in English? I think you have been with Maria for far too long." His accent in the English was thick and he wondered if that was what he sounded like a year ago to Ratonhnhake:ton and everyone at the Homestead.

Clearing his throat, he bowed his head. Using his birth language, he addressed Malik. "I apologize. I guess I have been."

The retired assassin just merely smiled at him. "Just be glad that it was me and not someone else. Not many can speak the Northern language."

Returning the smile, he stood and felt his back pop. "I will retire for the night. Will I see you in the morning or are you heading back to Jerusalem?"

"I will not be returning for a few more days, so I will see you in morning." He grabbed another book, and walked off towards the fortress' sleeping quarters.

Walking in the direction Malik had, he diverted into the gardens. The stars shone brightly in the heavens as he walked to the edge of the lush grass. He looked over the river and remembered the last time he was here, the water below terrified him, but now, he was so warm that a nice dip in it would feel refreshing.

"Altair."

He turned when he heard his name. Maria stood there, her cloak pulled around her to stave off the nightly chill, but to him it still felt warm. She walked over to him, and he opened his arms to her. She walked into his embrace. "Maria, I have missed you so."

She chuckled as her slender arms went around his waist. "It has not been more than a few hours since you and I have been apart."

His laid a kiss on the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her hair. "To me it has seemed like a year." The bad part was he was not kidding. It had been over a year since he had laid eyes on her soft face, and beautiful eyes.

"You are in a good mood, Altair. What has put you there so I may remember it later?" She smiled up at him.

He laid a finger under her chin and gazed into her eyes. "A dream was all. I fell asleep at my desk and had a dream." They would think him insane if he was to tell the truth, but no matter. It would be his secret to hold onto. His secret only.

"Then come to bed, I am sure we can have the same dream together." And she lead him up the stairs and back to his normal life.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Connor sat in the manor, looking through the history books, learning what he could about the remainder of the life Altair lead. It was one that he could never hope to accomplish. Grandmaster at twenty-five, a father of two boys, a wife that loved him unconditionally. He had a good life, until he lost Maria and one son, Sef, to betrayal. He also lost his best friend, Malik. He had talked about the man all the time. About how he was responsible for the loss of Malik's arm and his little brother, Kadar.

It was those things that changed him. Made him the man that Connor knew. Made him the man that he called friend and brother.

"Son." He raised his head to see his father standing there. "The horses are ready."

Ever so carefully, not aggravate the healing wound, he stood from the chair, and grimaced from the slight pulling at the newly knitted flesh. It was not painful, just severely uncomfortable. "Good. I would like to get this done with as quickly as possible."

Haytham just merely nodded and walked with him out to where the horses sat. They mounted and rode to the old tribal site. He had not been since before he was wounded and hoped to catch the tribe before they had departed, but the wound took longer to heal than Dr. White had suspected. Just the slightest movement at one point would rip the scab from the wound. He had been bedridden for the better part of a month.

The village was deserted by the time he arrived. A lone man sat by the fire, warming his hands from the morning chill. He looked up as he and Haytham entered.

"Well, good morning to you gents. Care to join me by the fire for a spell?" He smiled warmly and gestured to the fire, but Connor shook his head.

"When did everyone leave this place?" He asked.

The older man scratched his head dislodging his cap from its resting place. "Round about a month ago. Said they were heading west. This land here was sold to pay off some old war debts." He picked up his cap and dusted it off against his leg.

"Thank you." He inclined his head and began to walk around. He wandered through the Clan Mother's long house and as he passed the cold fire pit, he spied something under one of the beds. The box that held the relic that started him on this quest.

Pulling it out of its hiding place, he lifted the lid and stared at the glass orb. Would the spirit woman come to him once more? He still had questions that only she would be able to answer. His hand reached into the box, and pulled the orb out.

Light flared from within and filled the longhouse with its glow. Connor attempted to shield his eyes, but it did little to ward off the blinding glare.

"You have done as you were instructed to do. Well done."

He blinked his eyes a few times and saw her standing there. The woman Altair had called Juno. "I have questions."

She smiled. "And you will have some answers. Ask if you must."

"Did Altair make it home safely?" That was a question that plagued him since he awoke the next morning to hear the soft sobbing of Kara on Haytham's lap as his father told the child that the man that she loved more than anyone was gone and not coming back.

She nodded. "He did. He made it home, but is now dust in the grave. All that remain are the memories you carry and what another with see."

"Will I ever see him again? If even just to say goodbye." That was something he regretted. Not being able to say goodbye.

"Would you like to see your friend once more?" Connor nodded. "Then it shall be."

He was blinded by the light once more and when he could see once again, he stood in a grassy garden. Altair stood near the rail, his hands gripping the edge. "Altair." He could not help but smile at his friend, and second mentor.

The man's head lifted and he turned. "Ratonhnhake:ton." And a smile crossed his lips.

**And thus concludes Unconventional Alliance. I left it as a cliffy for a reason. I may do a sequel or may not. I have decided yet, but I have left it open for that reason. I hope everyone enjoyed the story and it was great writing for everyone. See ya!**

_*Sassiersphinx*_


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